


To Tear His Plans Asunder

by MarigoldRose24



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Depression, Dragon Bonding, Evil Bran, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Season 8 Fix It, Sibling Bonding, Time Travel, cersei and Euron are an evil power couple, cersei is the mad queen, drunk Tyrion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-10-11 21:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20553173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarigoldRose24/pseuds/MarigoldRose24
Summary: After dying a pointless death north of the wall Jon Snow is offered a chance to right a wrong and stop an unseen enemy.  Now reliving the worst months of his life while being bombarded with memories of a future that no longer exists Jon struggles to maintain his sanity while trying to keep Daenerys from the edge of hers.Or: another Time Travel fic no one asked for





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes:   
For the purposes of this fic much of what happened was the work of The Three Eyed Raven; he has been responsible for every ooc decision made by our beloved characters, or he at least manipulated and pushed them towards those decisions. So basically The Raven is D&D.   
Rhaella’s conversation with Jon might ruffle some feathers but she’s dead, her perspective is different, she can see how much everyone was manipulated into the roles they played. And we’ll say for the purposes of this story (if it makes you feel better) that Dany was, at that point too far gone to save.  
Also Jon is going to be quick to ‘fix’ certain mistakes because hey, been there done that, like paying a video game level over again. But of course some things will start to change pretty quickly.

To tear his plans asunder

Chapter One: Prologue

The first time he had died there had been nothing; emptiness, oblivion.

When he had been a child his father had taught him of the old gods and the First men’s belief in what came after, his brother had sometimes shared the stories he learned from his mother’s faith of the seven. He had heard them all and he had believed that there was something, though he would not have presumed to know what. His resurrection than, had brought with it the unpleasant surprise that nothing waited on the other side. 

Perhaps, or perhaps it had simply not been his time and so he had seen nothing of what lay beyond. 

Perhaps.

His second death was a pointless one, easily avoided and eagerly accepted. He saw the dip in the path seconds before he lost his footing, snow giving way beneath him, he could have stepped around it, he could have turned back. But in that moment, he no longer cared. It had been two years since his exile, two years of grief and regret and he was tired, so bloody tired.

So, he let it happen. He fell, tumbling down the hill the way he and Robb had done as children, until they were dizzy with laughter, watching the world spin above them. But he wasn’t a child anymore and this wasn’t some grassy hill outside Winterfell: it hurt. His shoulder popped out of joint, his leg bent out in the wrong direction, pain flaring up like an inferno. He saw the rock coming, he knew it would be the end. A brief moment of pain as it collided with his head and then…

Darkness…

Nothing ….

Oblivion…

A sound.

Waves crashing against the shore. 

He felt water against the soles of his feet, grainy sand against his hands. He opened his eyes to clear blue skies. The pain was gone. He rolled his shoulder experimentally but it seemed fine now. He looked down to discover that he was no longer dressed in furs and seal skin, instead he found woolen breeches and a loose linen undershirt, the laces left undone in the warm summer breeze. His feet were bare, the waves beating against them, soaking the bottoms of his breeches.

He sat up slowly, dragging his feet away from the water, the ocean stretched to the horizon, white caps the only break in its grey endlessness. He turned, taking in his surroundings; jagged rocks dotted the beach, shear rock faces soared toward the sky a short distance away. His heart hammered in his chest, a curious sensation as he was sure he was dead. 

He knew where he was, he recognized the landscape, he knew if he turned his head in the other direction, he would see the monstrous form of the Dragonmount and its gloomy fortress. Why here? 

For one brief moment he thought perhaps this was some kinder afterlife, that perhaps she was waiting for him, here in this place, the ancestral home of their family. Maybe they would have in death what they had been denied in life. 

Then the moment passed and he’s senses returned to him, there would be no reprieve for him, no joyful reunion with the woman he loved, the woman he had killed in cold blood. Would he find other members of his family here? He thought of kindly old Maester Aemon and how much he would like to see him again, but he remembered too, how the old man had clung to every piece of news about her. Would he rejoice to greet Jon as his nephew? Or condemn him as his niece’s murderer? 

Jon turned and looked up at Dragonstone, as cold and hard and impassive as he remembered. Perhaps she did wait for him, a vengeful spirit full of rage and hatred, driven mad by grief. Perhaps this was their hell, trapped together, each disgusted by what the other had become. 

‘Perhaps you think too much.’

The voice cut through him like a knife, it wasn’t one he recognized, a child’s voice. He turned his head back around and saw its owner. She was somewhere near five namedays, though something in her eyes spoke of many more years. She had a head full of silver blonde curls and dark grey eyes and a smirk that reminded him of Arya, she had a stick in her hand which she absently threw to the ground. 

‘Who – who are you?’ He asked, climbing to his feet, though she certainly didn’t look threatening her presence had rattled him.

She tilted her head and studied him curiously. As he watched her hair darkened, becoming inky black like his, he realized she looked like a female version of him more so even than his Stark sister ever had. ‘I am no one, I never was.’ Cryptic. Jon had never had time for cryptic.

‘Then what should I call you?’ He tried again.

Again, she changed, her hair lost its curl, her eyes turned to amethyst, her cheekbones became more pronounced, her face slightly longer. She still looked like him, but her eyes belonged to another…her. ‘I am Lyanna, and Rhaella, Rhaenys and Alysanne.’ She began to change again. Her simple white dress morphing as well, into loose white breeches and a linen shirt like the one Jon wore, her hair shortened turning silver now, like moonlight on snow. ‘I am Aemon, Robb, Jaehaerys and Daeron.’ He realized then the little girl had become a little boy, his features shifting continuously. It was disconcerting and yet somehow beautiful. ‘For now, I am your guide. Someone wishes to speak with you.’ The boy turned and walked toward a path that led up to the cliffs where Jon had once come face to face with a dragon. 

Jon watched him for a moment before he began to follow, looking back once more at the beach he noticed a strange symbol drawn in the sand, it reminded him of the runes of the First men. He brushed it aside and turned back to the child. In his mind he went through the names the child had listed, names that belonged to both house Targaryen and house Stark, but the inclusion of Robb meant the child was connected to him and not his parents. Once, when life had presented him with an unexpected opportunity, he had considered naming his first-born son Robb. A short-lived dream, a path never taken.

Was this child somehow his? A ghost of a life unlived? 

The child turned to look at him, a girl again, this time with wavy silver hair streaked through with black and eyes a remarkable blue-green. ‘I am yours.’ She answered, her ability to read his mind adding another strange element to the experience. ‘And I am hers. I encompass all the possibilities that existed in such a union.’ She looked up ahead toward the cliffs. ‘I would have liked to have been born. Something prevented that from happening.’ 

Jon felt the familiar self-loathing rise up within him. ‘Aye.’ He agreed. ‘Me.’

She shook her head. ‘No, another works in the shadows.’ With that she continued on her way, trusting that Jon would follow. He didn’t see that he had much choice in the matter so he climbed. The rough uneven ground caused his bare feet no discomfort and despite the cool winds off the sea he felt no cold. 

When they came to the cliffs, he spied a woman a hundred feet away, her colouring screamed Targaryen. For a brief, painful moment he thought it was her, but she was taller, her hair more curl than wave as it blew about her in the breeze, dancing with the light, gauzy material of her pale blue dress. When Jon got close enough to reach out and touch her, she turned. And her face took his breath away. It wasn’t Daenerys but the resemble was overwhelming, she was older, and sadder, her eyes a darker violet. He didn’t need to be introduced to know who she was.

His grandmother. How she must hate him. He had killed her daughter, her last remaining child, the one she had given her life for. 

His child guide had stopped just in front of him, she observed the older woman with a fondness that spoke of familiarity. 

‘You may go on now child.’ Rhaella told her in a kind and gentle voice, the kind of tone Lady Stark had often used when her children were young, the kind of tone he had never heard directed at him. He brushed the thought away; he didn’t deserve pity, least of all his own. So, he stood still, waiting for her attention to turn to him, to feel the scorn of yet another family member. 

It didn’t come.

Instead she observed him with the same sad expression she had worn when addressing the child; gentle, tender almost. 

‘My darling child.’ She greeted, her feet bridging the distance he had left between them. She put a hand up as if to cup his cheek and he backed away on instinct. Rhaella frowned slightly, hand dropping back to her side. ‘Do you fear my anger Aegon?’ She asked.

‘fear it?’ Jon questioned. ‘Perhaps, but I deserve it.’ 

She frowned again. ‘Do you?’ 

‘I killed…’ He began, he didn’t know if he had the strength to finish his sentence, he never got a chance to anyway.

‘I know what you did.’ She assured him, still she didn’t look angry with him. She turned her attention to the ancient keep, her eyes tracing the torrents and ramparts. ‘Do you know why I’m the one to greet you?’ She asked instead.

‘No.’ He truly could not think of a reason if it wasn’t driven by anger.

‘You and I have a lot in common.’ She announced. Jon stared at her in disbelief. Rhaella laughed softly at his dumbfounded expression. ‘We both watched our other halves fall apart, driven to madness by grief and – other things.’ She sighed; her eyes coming back to rest on him. ‘By the gods you look like my uncle Dunc.’ She declared. Jon raised an eyebrow but Rhaella dismissed the intended question. ‘Of course, our situations weren’t entirely the same, I held no love for Aerys, at least not beyond the simple expectation that one is to love one’s siblings.’ She turned away from the castle and began to walk along the cliff, Jon followed behind, close enough to hear her and no closer. ‘Really it would have been like you having to marry that chilly Northern Queen.’ 

The notion was distressing, especially in light of how things had ended. Actually no, there wasn’t a time in his life when the idea of marrying Sansa wouldn’t have been terribly distressing for numerous reasons. 

‘Still, he was family. And dispute our lack of attraction, of affection he was s_till_family. And he wasn’t a bad king. He was no liberator or warrior but he wasn’t cruel. Watching him disintegrate was terrifying.’ 

Jon nodded he understood, he did. He thought back to the woman who had greeted him the last time he had reached this island, and he thought of the manic energy in her beautiful eyes when he met her in the throne room of Kings Landing. 

They came upon several boulders and she sat down on one that hit her mid hip. Jon stopped short to watch her. Her gaze was distant in her lovely face, her hands folded pensively in her lap. ‘I didn’t have the strength to do what you did. I thought about it. Gods know I did.’ She stared up at him. ‘I didn’t have the strength to do the right thing.’

‘The right thing?’ he repeated; how could she think it was the right thing? ‘I killed your daughter, the woman I loved, the woman I had pledged myself to. How is that the right thing?’ He hated the tears he felt forming in his eyes. He hated that it still hurt so much. 

‘You were born a king; your duty was to the realm. You knew this, you understood this better than anyone, even when you thought yourself a bastard you understood. It was the right decision, the only one you could have made.’

‘Then why does it feel so wrong!’ He yelled it; he didn’t mean to but his grandmother didn’t seem to care about his outburst.

‘Because it was.’ She replied. 

He looked at her speechless. 

‘Everything about that day was wrong, the weeks leading up to it were wrong. You did the only right thing, but everything that led up to it was wrong.’ 

Jon shook his head in confusion, he didn’t understand, but he did, oh he did.

‘You were once observant, quick to sense a slight. You understood people because you had to. Tyrion Lannister was once clever, a man of many plans. My sweet Daenerys was once a liberator who cried over the deaths of children she didn’t know. What happened to you?’

‘I- I don’t know.’ 

‘Are you sure?’ She asked. ‘you’ve suspected. That day on the pier when you said goodbye to your kin, you suspected then.’ 

Jon closed his eyes and breathed in the salty sea air, listened for a moment to the waves far below. ‘Bran.’ He answered. It was true, he had suspected. When Bran had told him, he was exactly where he was supposed to be, Jon had suspected that they had been played. There was little to nothing he could have done about it though. If Bran had been a player in the game than they had all lost and lost spectacularly.

‘Yes and no.’ His grandmother replied. ‘The boy you grew up with is gone, eaten up by the thing that wears his face. It is not Brandon Stark who deserves your ire.’

‘It hardly matters now.’ Jon Stated, suddenly overwhelmingly tired. ‘I am dead and he is king.’ 

‘You are. But you need not be.’ She answered, standing now from her position on the rocks, this time when she approached him, he did not back away. She reached for his hands and held them in hers. Her touch was gentle and warm and he imagined just for a moment who she could have been in his life. But where her touch gave comfort her words did not. 

‘No.’ He replied; the harshness of his voice edged with something that sounded like panic. ‘I cannot go back again. I lost; I have nothing. I wanted to die.’ 

Rhaella looked at him sadly, her fingers brushing over his hands in a motherly gesture, tracing patterns on his skin. ‘I cannot make you go back, this time that choice is yours. But you need to understand what is being offered.’

‘Offered by whom?’ 

Rhaella looked out across the sea, if she saw something out there it was unknown to him. ‘The Three Eyed Raven is one of the old ones, he has affronted the others of his kind by meddling in human affairs for his own gains. For this he must be punished. But they wish for more than that. They have great power, though they seldom use it. What they offer is simple. They will send you back, not to the moment of your death but to the first dawn after the night.’

‘The dawn?’ He questioned, mind racing. ‘You mean after the battle with the dead?’

‘Yes.’

‘If they can send me back in time, why there, why not further back before this mess began, why not stop the Raven from taking Bran to begin with?’

‘The death of the Night King is a barrier, much like the wall was before it was breeched. Except this barrier exists in time, a wave of raw energy. They can use a drop of it to send you back but they cannot cross it.’ 

‘And what am I to do? The board is set, the die is cast.’ 

‘I asked you what happened to you. He happened, he clouded your vision, he dulled Tyrion’s senses he drove me daughter to grief and rage. They will shield you from his manipulations, you will see clearly again. 

‘It is true that much had been lost by that point but much could still be saved. Don’t let Daenerys go to Dragonstone, don’t let her be alone.’

‘I – I didn’t mean to; I didn’t know what to do.’ He was ashamed at the sound of his own voice, the pathetic nature of his response. But if she thought less of him for it, it didn’t show, she raised a hand to cup his cheek and this time he didn’t stop her. 

‘The world is cruel and unfair. And the raven is as well. He made sure to have you confront the truth when it would cause the most suffering for both you and Daenerys. And what I am going to ask of you will also be unfair and cruel.’

Jon waited, staring into her dark amethyst eyes, her resemblance to Dany was both soothing and destressing. ‘When you go back this will seem a dream, or a vision, you will remember what needs remembering though it will fade as time goes by and you alter things. The pain of your parentage will still be there, dragged back to the forefront from the depths in which you have buried it. I am going to ask you to set it aside.’

‘I – ‘

‘I know, I know how much it hurts you. The betrayal you feel, the questions. I know. And there will be a time for you to face them, but to combat the Raven you must push it aside. Daenerys cannot be allowed to wander that dark path and you are the only one who can stop her.’

‘I’m not sure I can save her.’ He admitted, it was a dark thought, one that had plagued him for years now. Maybe she was mad, maybe it was in her blood.

‘Only she can save herself, you must give her a reason to.’ 

Jon nodded, a part of him still wanted to refuse. To tell the old gods or whatever they were to go fuck themselves, he was done. But he already knew he wouldn’t, wither it was for duty or love he didn’t know. ‘I will try.’ He told her and she smiled. A beautiful sight that made her look younger and more vulnerable. 

‘That is all that can be asked.’ She assured him. ‘It is not so terrible a thing is it? To ask you to love a beautiful girl?’

Jon frowned at the question; the child came back to his mind. The potential of their union. ‘It is not wrong? Does it not displease the gods?’ He had to ask, he had to know. Even after all the time that had passed, he was still torn about it, it still nagged him in the quiet hours before dawn when he lay awake drowning in his own pain. 

‘Men concern themselves with such things, gods do not.’ Rhaella answered. 

‘But the madness…’

She grabbed his face with her hands, though not unkindly. ‘Listen to me, there is a cruelness in us. Tis true. A ruthlessness, it allowed us to conquer and to rule. But the madness you speak of isn’t born in our blood, it’s born of grief and desperation and sometimes in a cup of tea served by a sympathetic maester. We are the blood of the dragon, such practices do not affect us as they affect others, magic imbues our blood, that magic must be preserved. Love my daughter without guilt Aegon and the gods will smile upon you.’

Jon nodded for he could not think of another response. He felt both heavy and light at the revelation. 

‘When you return you will black out.’ She told him, backing away, her posture calmer now. ‘you will hit your head on the rubble, this will give you a convenient cover to hide from the raven and explain any missteps you make in the first few days.’

‘If we change things won’t the raven know?’

‘In his current form, bound to the world as he is, he cannot see everything, so much magic was expelled that night it will be easy to hide you. The raven directs events like men would direct the flow of a river. He cannot perceive every rock and twig the river will travel over, only it’s general direction, if it flows off course, he will seek to redirect it, that will buy us time. But he will work against you and it is possible he will realize that you are aware of him. You must be prepared to deal with him when the time comes, but not before, gods are dangerous things. Always remember he is not the boy you knew. He is not Bran Stark; he is the thing that killed him.’

Jon nodded again and swallowed thickly, he understood what was being asked of him. He would be lucky if he got out of this without being labeled a kinslayer again. 

‘And Aegon?’

‘Yes?’

‘I know you have a parchment for telling the truth, but Daenerys does not need to hear everything. She is far more fragile at this point in time than she is letting on. The truth of what she is capable of will not help her.’

‘I understand.’ He did, somethings were best left unsaid. It was a hard lesson for him to have learned. But learn it he had. 

Rhaella nodded, seemingly more to herself than him, and drew herself up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. ‘Be well my grandson, know what you are loved and we will see you one day, hopefully many years from now.’ 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Notes: So as Rhaella tells Jon, his experience in the other timeline will seem a dream to him. At least it will some of the time. At first it seems quite real but the further from it he gets the more he will wonder if it was real at all. This will jump back and forth especially in the beginning, sometimes he will be absolutely certain that it was real, other times he will think he imagined it. The more the present gets altered the less real that reality will seem.   
Likewise, his feelings about Dany will swing back and forth a bit. He loves her, he is determined to save her, he is also traumatized by everything that happened in Kings Landing.   
Jon’s decision to keep his identity to himself (and the few others that know) is one some people will disagree with. It’s an imperfect solution to an imperfect world so to speak. Jon understands first hand now the damage it can cause and he’s determined to avoid it and if that means remaining a bastard for the rest of his life, he would do it. Is it going to stay a secret? That’s an entirely different matter.

To Tear His Plans Asunder 

Chapter Two 

It was the unsullied who pried her from the cold body of her knight. Normally the former slave soldiers would never lay hands on their queen, but as the wet snow continued to fall into the early afternoon a decision was made to abandon protocol for fear she would succumb to illness and leave them alone in this harsh and unforgiving land. So it was that the Dragon Queen found herself being carried across the battle field toward Winterfell in the arms of Grey Worm while an exhausted looking Missandei tailed behind. 

He had the good sense to put her down on her feet before they entered the castle, she couldn’t show weakness here, not in this place, not with these people.

The damage to the ancient keep was immense, everywhere she looked there was signs of destruction, toppled stones and bodies, so many bodies. It would take days just to move them all. Survivors milled about, gathered together in groups, seeking support or warmth or both from their fellow humans. 

As they passed the Great Hall, she saw a makeshift infirmary had been set up. The Winterfell Maester, a kindly old man named Wolkan was directing the process of caring for the wounded, shouting out orders and calling for supplies. She hadn’t realized she had slowed down until Missandei took hold of her elbow and ushered her on. 

The stone hallways and stairwells were a blur as she was guided along. When next she took stock of her surroundings, she was in the chambers that had been granted to her upon her arrival. Spacious and decorated with heavy dark wooden furniture adored with snarling direwolves. Grey Worm remained outside while her trusted advisor helped her peel off her white winter coat, now stained with the blood of a man who had been by her side since she was nothing more than a scared little princess. She had the tremendous desire to throw it in the fire and watch it burn. ‘Burn it.’ She told her. 

Missandei looked up from her inspection of the garment. ‘Your Grace?’ She questioned. 

‘The coat, burn it.’ She repeated. Missandei looked as though she were going to disagree though Daenerys couldn’t imagine why. 

‘Yes, your grace. I will see to it, I dare not do it in here, it would produce too much smoke.’ 

Sweet practical Missandei. Though she had never subscripted to any gods she found herself thanking any that were listening for allowing Missandei to survive the night, what would she do if she lost her closest friend in this place? It was bad enough that Jon had been avoiding her….

Jon.

Gods. The conversation in the crypts came rushing back to her. In her grief over Ser Jorah and the shock that had been the battle she had forgotten about the revelation Jon had made the night before, in front of the tomb of Lyanna Stark, the woman her brother had supposedly abducted and raped. The woman Jon claimed was his mother, not taken against her will but instead married into the Targaryen dynasty in its final days. 

She sat down on the edge of her bed, one hand gripping the ornately carved bedpost. He said his name was Aegon Targaryen, the name of his brother. If the tale was true. If. 

Last night she had dismissed it outright, a power grab by the Starks and their elk, but in the clear light of day she knew it wasn’t. It explained so much, why Drogon hadn’t killed him when he dared to touch the temperamental giant, why Rhaegal accepted him as his rider with barely any prior interaction. Even the strange why she was drawn to him. He was a dragon; he was a male dragon. Heir to the Iron Throne. 

‘Your Grace are you alright? Shall I call the Maester or one of our healers?’

Daenerys looked up at her friend, startled for a moment to find her still in the room. ‘No, no I’m fine. It’s just – ‘

‘Ser Jorah.’ Missandei finished when an understanding nod. ‘Can I get you anything at all?’

‘No, no my friend.’ Daenerys assured her, reaching up to grip her hand and giving it a squeeze. ‘I think I simply need some time alone. Please, go. Be with Grey Worm. I’ll be fine.’

Missandei looked as though she was going to argue, one of the few people in Dany’s life who had that privilege. But in the end, she nodded and left. The room seemed suddenly too big without her in it. Dany took a shaky breath and pulled herself back to her feet. She wondered aimlessly from one piece of furniture to the next until she finally came to sit before the fire, Missandei must have rekindled it while Daenerys had been lost in her own thoughts, for she hadn’t noticed. 

_I’m not the heir. _The thought reverberated inside her mind like a drum. She had spent so many years battling her way to the top, precuring the army her brother failed to get, all so she could claim her birth right. Except it had never been hers to begin with. He was male, he was older, he was the only remaining son of the first-born son. The laws of succession were clear. 

‘Fuck the laws!’ The words left her mouth as she clinched her fists so hard, she feared she had drawn blood. It was she who had struggled, she who had birthed dragons and raised armies. He didn’t even want the Iron Throne. He was content with…with what? The North? He didn’t even seem to want that; he was driven by duty not ambition and up until a few days ago it had seemed the only thing he truly wanted was her. 

She needed to speak with him. That much was clear. She stood from her chair and walked half way across the room before the uncomfortable thought hit her that she didn’t know if he was still alive. Yes, he had been when she tried to burn the Night King but survival in a battle was not guaranteed from one moment to the next. She felt bile rise in the throat at the possibility. No matter what he had revealed to her the night before she still loved him. The idea that he could be lying dead out there in the rubble, it was too much to bear. 

No, she refused to believe that, Jon was an excellent fighter, she had seen evidence of that first hand and she had heard stories, if anyone could survive the night it was Jon. 

But then why hadn’t he come to her yet? Was he avoiding her still, was he so disgusted by their relationship that he couldn’t’ stand to look at her? She hated herself for thinking these things, for caring. She had never once cared what Daario thought of her. But Jon wasn’t Daario, Jon was a much better man and somehow, he had wormed his way into the very fiber of her being. What he thought of her mattered more than she cared to admit even to herself. 

Pushing her thoughts away she opened the door and greeted the two unsullied who stood guard over her with a nod. One was called Vile Flea the other had named himself Attan. She walked back toward the Great Hall with her head held high and her royal mask firmly in place. She would not give power to her fears. If she was to find Jon, chances were good someone near the Great Hall could help her. 

It was still chaos when she arrived, though an organized chaos. The wounded were still everywhere, the Northman, the unsullied, the Dothraki and the Free Folk, they were all being tended to. The Maester working alongside a Free Folk healer and a few unsullied who were trained to help the injured.

For a moment she had hope, perhaps this could work, perhaps they could find a way for everyone to live together. 

Then she met the cold, distrusting eyes of Sansa Stark and the moment died. 

If Daenerys had a royal mask Sansa Stark had one as well, Dany had yet to see what, if anything resided in under it, though she had her theories. Jon may have a soft spot for his siblings but Daenerys had learned long ago that siblings were not to be trusted simply because of blood. 

‘Lady Stark.’ She greeted. Sansa didn’t appear to be helping with the wounded, though she imagined she was coordinating the relief efforts. Though she looked tired, she was uninjured and surprisingly put together. 

‘Your Grace.’ Sansa replied coolly. Daenerys imagined how much effort it cost her to say that. ‘I heard about Ser Jorah, you have my condolences.’ The same chilly tone despite her words.

‘Thank you, Lady Stark.’ If one of them were going to be uncomfortable it wasn’t going to be Dany, she could play Sansa’s game all day. Instead she cut to the chase. ‘I’m looking for your brother.’ She admitted; her own tone just as chilly. 

Sansa faltered and Dany felt the bile rise again. If Jon was dead Dany was sure she’d lose what little she had in her stomach. ‘He was injured You Grace. He was unconscious when they brought him in. I had him moved to his chambers.’ 

Daenerys fought to control her sense of panic, injured didn’t mean dead. Her eyes found the Maester tending to a wounded girl on the other side of the room. ‘Has he been seen to?’ She asked.

Sansa’s expression turned even more chilly. ‘Of course, he was seen to immediately. The Maester does not believe him to be in any danger at the moment. Ser Davos is watching over him. Right now, there are plenty of wounded who are not so lucky and my brother would be irate if his care impacted the care of those he fought to save.’ Her tone was clear, she was asserting the fact that she knew Jon better than Daenerys did.

‘Of course, Lady Stark, I will leave you to your work.’ She replied with hard won self-control. She wanted to rage at the smug Northern girl, she wanted to scream and yell and throw things. Not that any of that was acceptable but she was so tired of trying to appease the Northern Lords and their egos. She had fought for them only hours before, lost unknown scores of her men, lost her loyal knight and injured both her dragons and yet it seemed none of that made any difference to Jon’s sister and if Jon’s sister wasn’t grateful she had a feeling the rest of the Stark Bannerman wouldn’t be either. 

Keeping her face as neutral as she could she turned on her heel and left the great hall walking the stone corridors to Jon’s Chambers. When she knocked Ser Davos bid her enter, she found him in a chair, obviously having been asleep. The gruff old smuggler rose to his feet and bowed respectfully but she waved him off with a smile before her attention turned to Jon, who lay unconscious in his bed, stripped of his leathers, down to his undershirt, his hair unbound and wild about his face. She could see the start of a livid bruise forming at his temple and travelling under his hairline, the skin broken in places, the wound had been tended and cleaned, blood no longer flowing from it. It reminded her of the journey back from Eastwatch and the hours she had spent by his bedside then. Everything was different now. 

‘Has he woken?’ She asked.

Davos shook his head. ‘It’s a nasty blow he took.’ He shook his head again, this time in exasperation. ‘I’ve never met anyone who made it such a habit to run headlong into danger.’

‘You care for him.’ She stated. She liked the old smuggler, he reminded Dany of Ser Barristen and Willem Darry. 

Davos didn’t deny it. ‘Honourable men are hard to find.’ He said. 

‘It’s not just that though is it? You love him.’ 

‘Aye, I had many sons once, before the Battle of Blackwater Bay. They died in serve of Stannis and his Red Witch. I suppose I am a father first, I find life lonely without sons to fret over.’ He looked as if he wanted to say something more but he hesitated. ‘Begging your pardon Your Grace, but if I’m not mistaken you love him too.’

Daenerys watched him for a moment before she nodded. ‘I do.’

‘Then might I make a suggestion?’

‘Of course, Ser.’

‘Marry the fool. It will appease the Northern Lords if not a certain Northern Lady and unite the realm.’

Dany opened her mouth to reply and then realized she had no response to that. A few days ago, such a suggestion would have been met with her heartfelt approval. But now…

‘Just a thought Your Grace.’ Davos amended when she didn’t rely. 

‘It’s a good thought Ser Davos, I just don’t know what he would think of it.’ She replied, gesturing to Jon’s sleeping form. 

‘He loves you. But he is stubborn and hard headed.’ He agreed.

Daenerys smirked. ‘I hope so, it will serve him well after that blow to the head.’

Davos smiled. ‘Aye you’re right, it’s a wonder he felt it at all.’

Dany chuckled. ‘Why don’t you go get something to eat or get some rest, Ser, I’ll stay with him.’ She offered. 

Davos nodded and made his way passed her to the door. ‘If he wakes, summon the Maester.’

‘Of course.’ She agreed, settling herself into the chair he had vacated upon her arrival. Once he was gone, she let her own eyes close, she didn’t think she would sleep for the grief and worry that plagued her but she slipped into an uneasy doze, her dreams filled with black birds which swarmed and pecked at a raging dragon.

He opened his eyes to darkness, a fierce pounding in his head. He flexed his hands and rotated his ankles; he drew in a breath and felt his chest expand. Too many injuries had taught him not to jump out of bed after a battle or a hunt, best to test things out first. He was stiff and sore, his ribs felt bruised but not broken, his right leg protested any movement but again nothing was broken. But his head, Seven hells, his head. He hissed sharply as the pain increased. Somewhere off to his right he heard movement, the scraping of a chair, fumbling hands, a light then, a candle lite. 

He turned his head toward the sound on instinct and came face to face with the Dragon Queen, her silver hair cast golden in the light of the flame but there was no mistaking her striking features.

Memories came flooding back, The feast, the meeting in the Godswood. Marching down the Kingsroad, the death of Rhaegal which he had not witnessed but he had felt like a limb being severed, Dragonstone…

_Don’t let Daenerys go to Dragonstone_

Jon turned his body toward the edge of the bed as the pounding reached an apex inside his head, he just managed to lean clear of the bed before he emptied the meager contents of his stomach on the stone floor, The heaving and coughing that followed did not help his head in the least. 

He was dimly aware that Daenerys had moved, the light of her candle disappearing from view and plunging his world back into a much more pleasant darkness, He stayed where he was, still leaning over the edge and trying to ignore the smell of bile until he felt her hands on his shoulder. She gently pulled at him and though he wasn’t keen on the idea of moving he didn’t have the energy to resist her so he let her pull him back onto his back, he felt one small hand cradling his head to limit the amount it moved. He groaned anyway, the act of breathing itself seemed enough to anger his head. 

‘I’ve called for the maester and a maid.’ Dany informed him, her voice sent another cascade of memories spiralling through his tortured brain, the pounding intensified again. 

_I’m begging you _

_ I don’t have love here _

_ They don’t get to choose_

_ I would have liked to have been born_

It was utter agony. And he was more than grateful when someone, the Maester he assumed pressed a cup to his lips and he smelled the hateful scent of Milk of the Poppy. He drank it happily despite its taste and drifted off back into the darkness.

The next time he woke a fire crackled in the hearth and faint rays of sunlight could be seen through the shutters. The pounding in his head was certainly less though it increased the instant he attempted to move. 

‘C-Careful.’ 

Sam

Jon shut his eyes and tried to prepare himself, in his mind he had seen Sam only a day – or make that two days ago during the battle, he had also not seen him for years. A part of him wanted to ask him how the babe was, did they have a boy or a girl? Had they honestly named their child after him? But none of these things had happened yet and here and now Jon wasn’t even aware that Gilly was with child. It was enough to worsen his already horrendous headache. 

But there was something else in under it, a sharper more jagged thought. Sam had told him about his parents, on the eve of a battle. Clearly distressed about Daenerys’ actions on the goldroad he had sought, not to give Jon the answer to a question he knew had plagued him his entire life but instead to drive a wedge between him and the queen he was pledged to. 

Sam had never been malicious by nature, in fact he tended to avoid almost all types of confrontation. That he was distraught over the death of his brother Jon could understand but he’s outburst in the crypts was still at least slightly out of character. And how had he known where to find him? Why would he have trespassed on private Stark ground? Unless he’d been told to do it by someone who seemingly had the authority to do so. Bran. 

He would have liked to have verified his theory but he still felt like shit. So, he complied with Sam’s advice and kept his eyes closed, forcing himself to stay still.

‘Do you know where you are?’ Sam asked. 

Winterfell. Jon attempted to say it but his tongue stuck to the roof his mouth like someone had plastered it here. A moment later another cup was pressed to his lips.

‘It’s just water.’ Sam assured him. Cold water too, it felt like bliss.

‘Winterfell.’ He rasped out when Sam had taken the cup away. 

‘An-And do you know who I am?’

‘Tormund?’ 

Silence, Jon ventured to open one eye a crack, Sam was watching him with that concerned look he often wore. ‘Relax Sam.’ 

His friend gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Well if you’ve developed a sense of humor than we know there’s been brain damage.’ 

‘Oh funny.’ 

‘Yes well. The Maester is on his way to give you a once over.’

_King Bran has made me grand maester _

Jon winced, visions of the future layering over the present. How could they all have been so stupid? Everyone who could have seen Bran for what he was had been killed, driven off or indebted to him. Sam, brilliant, clever Sam given everything he wanted, the title of Maester without having to go through the citadel, a blind eye turned to his relationship with Gilly, The Lordship of Hornhill passed down to his children. The boy he had saved so long ago in the tiltyard of Castle Black, the boy who had clung to his cloak for fear of just about everything had been surprisingly silent when they had shipped him off to the wall again. 

A door opened and closed again, the clink of metal told him Maester Wolkan had arrived. Jon had liked the old Maester of the Dreadfort well enough, he was a timid man who had cowered under the Bolton’s. He had been so sure he’d be killed when the Starks had retaken Winterfell that he had trembled when Jon had sought him out, though it had only been to assess the wound he’d taken when his horse had been killed. As the moons passed, he had watched as Wolkan came out of his shell; he stood taller, his voice clearer, he grew a beard, having explained that Roose Bolton demanded every man in his service be clean shaven as he was. It had been rewarding to see, Jon realized he had no idea what had become of the man, though he imagined he had serviced Sansa. 

_Do you forgive me?_

No. 

‘How are you feeling my Lord? Have the pains subsided since last night?’ The Maester inquired, his voice low as to avoid agitating his head. 

‘Slightly, yes. The light hurts.’

‘MMM, and do you know where you are? The circumstances under which you were hurt?’ 

‘Winterfell, the battle, I was – ah – arguing with an undead dragon.’ No point denying it. Sam snorted somewhere near the foot of the bed.

Wolkan sighed. ‘All my years as a Maester I never imagined I’d hear that response and believe it.’ Jon could hear the older man move around the bed, ‘Samwell, if you would open the shutters so that I might inspect the wound. I suggest you keep your eyes closed if the light hurts.’ 

He did as instructed, listening intently as Sam moved around the room. Even through his eye lids he could see the stream of light that fell upon him. The Maester turned his head, practiced fingers probing the edges of the wound. ‘The swelling is receding.’ He announced. ‘The wound appears clean and free of corruption.’ His hands disappeared, after a few moments Sam closed the shutters, the room was still too bright but it was better. ‘I will have some food sent up, broth and bread. Some ginger tea for the stomach.’ More noise, the clatter of bottles. ‘I can give you something for the pain – ‘

‘No more Milk of the Poppy.’ Jon protested, he had things he needed to attend to, a kingdom to run, plans to be made. He couldn’t be passed out on some foul elixir. 

‘Something milder my Lord. It will not put you to sleep.’ Another cup, he was starting to realize that it would be very easy to poison him at the moment, not that he imagined anyone would be attempting such a thing but if they had been he would be a prefect target. This new liquid was pleasant compared to the milk, a slightly spicy taste followed by a hint of mint, it burned the back of his throat as it went down. It didn’t take long before he began to feel the effects; the headache began to lessen and within minutes he was able to open his eyes. 

‘Ah! There you are!’ Sam trilled, Jon merely grimaced, forcing himself to sit up with the Maester’s assistance.

‘Maester Wolkan, I would like to see a report on the damage from the battle.’ Jon decreed, though in truth he already knew the damage and the final list of casualties.

‘At once my Lord, though I do caution you not to overdo it.’ Jon nodded his agreement and the Maester gave a quick bow before departing leaving Jon alone with Sam.

‘Go make sure no one is listening in the Corridor Sam. We need to talk.’ Sam gave him a quizzical look before he walked over to the door and stuck his head into the hall beyond, looking this way and that before closing the door and returning to stand near the bed, a look a trepidation on his round face. 

‘There’s no one about.’ His friend assured him. ‘Is this about – ‘ He tilted his head. ‘You know, that thing in the crypts?’

Jon barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. ‘Yes that.’ He drew a breath. ‘I need you to promise me that you will not breathe a word of it to anyone.’

‘You mean before you have a chance to declare – ‘

‘Sam. I need you to swear it. This is not your secret to share and the damage it could do – the fighting needs to end, for all our sakes.’ He said with a sigh.

Sam fiddled with his hands; wringing them together. ‘Which is why you have to step up and make your claim.’ He reasoned.

‘What I do with this information is up to me and Daenerys.’ Sam scowled at the mention of her name. ‘It affects no one so much as us. It puts both of us in danger. Please Sam, if you are my friend then promise me that you will let me handle this as I see fit.’

‘As you see fit or as she sees fit?’ Sam questioned. Jon groaned internally, of all the times for Sam to grow a backbone.

‘Sam.’ His tone was one of warning and Sam seemed to lose some of his resolve.

‘O-of course, Jon I would never go behind your back. I just think that you should – ‘

‘I know what you think Sam. You’ve made that abundantly clear.’ Jon grimaced, a stab of pain flaring behind his eyes, he brought his hand up to his head. ‘To be entirely honest with you, I could use a friend right now, one who’s more concerned with my welfare than with my possible titles.’ 

To his credit Sam had the sense to look abashed as he rushed forward in his usual awkward way. ‘Of course, Jon. You know I’m your friend, I always have been.’ He winced slightly. ‘I suppose this must be difficult for you.’ He said more gently, no one in the time before ever bothered to address that fact. It’s not something he’s unaccustomed to: having to work through his own problems without aid. As a bastard he had little support growing up but the revelation of his parentage is something he finds he doesn’t have the resources to deal with. It’s moot at the moment, at least for the most part. It can’t be about him right now. 

‘It is.’ He answered simply. ‘And I’m not sure now is the proper time to deal with it. There’s simply too much to be done.’

Sam nodded in agreement, still looking rather uncomfortable but apparently willing to relent for now. 

‘There is something else I’d have you do for me.’

‘Of course! Anything.’ He replied hurriedly, eager it seemed to prove his friendship.

‘Search the books in the library on dragonlore for anything that aids healing. Rhaegal’s wounds were extensive, if I can help him, I’d like to.’ Sam brightened slightly at the notion though Jon isn’t sure if it’s the idea of research in general or the subject of dragons that caused it. 

‘I’ll go there right away; I believe there was something mentioned in Maester Hornwore’s compendium or maybe it was – ‘

‘Sam’

‘Oh.’ Sam blushed slightly. ‘Sorry, I’m getting carried away, aren’t I?’ He wrung his hands together again. ‘Are you sure you’ll be alright alone?’

‘I’ll be fine and I’m sure I won’t be alone for long. Once word gets out that I’m awake I imagine I’ll have a steady stream to incensed lords to deal with.’

‘Well I don’t envy you that.’ Sam replied with a smirk and with that he was gone, leaving Jon to ponder the situation he had found himself in. Had anyone else ever been given a second chance he wondered. Surely if they had they would have kept it to themselves for fear of being thought mad. He sighed and leaned his head back against the pillows, fighting a wave of pain through his temples. He needed to see Daenerys and yet he dreaded it all the same. In the years that had passed for him beyond the wall she had haunted him relentlessly, not a night had gone by when he hadn’t dreamt of her and it had driven him to near madness. A part of him feared that when he did finally see her in the light of day that she would be that same vengeful spirit from his nightmares, a much larger part feared that he would be unable to change the course of her life and he would be forced to make the same choice he had made before. He knew he wouldn’t survive it a second time.


	3. chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love so far :) 
> 
> One of my sad little disappointments from season 8 (so, so many disappointments), is the lack of meaningful dialect between Jon and Arya (and everyone else). They were supposed to have this wonderful sibling relationship and we kinda got screwed. I feel like they forced the Arya/Sansa relationship because the Actresses are close and in turn, they sacrificed Jon’s relationship with her. So, here’s my attempt to fix it a bit.
> 
> This chapter does contain some smut, if that's not your thing you should probably skip the end.

Chapter Three

He was right about the lords. Several came to call as he shuffled through reports that detailed the damage from the battle. He tried to keep his calm as they complained about the housing situation, the preparations for the funeral pyres, the wildings, the Dothraki and everything in between. By the time Lord Royce appeared, no doubt sent by Sansa, he was at his wits end and was only saved from saying something he’d regret by the arrival of Arya, who was able to dispatch the rune knight with little more than a smirk and a tilt of her head. 

‘They’re afraid of you.’ He commented as she took up a seat by the hearth, planting her boots, crossed legged on the table. Catelyn Stark would have had a fit, as would Sansa.

In response Arya shrugged, her face battered and bruised from battle just as he remembered it. ‘How are you?’

‘I’ll live.’

‘I wanted to thank you.’ She said, pouring herself a mug of ale from the pitcher on the table.

‘For what?’

‘You know for what. I’d never have made it passed that damn dragon if it wasn’t for you.’ She took a gulp of ale and leaned back in the chair. Jon watched her for a moment, the reports forgotten on his lap. He hadn’t realized that she had noticed, in the time before she had never made reference to his distraction and he had never brought it up. It wasn’t that he particularly cared about the thanks but he did find the difference interesting. 

‘Team work.’ He muttered, looking back at the papers.

‘You’re welcome Arya.’ Arya intoned in what Jon had to admit was a good impression of Septa Mordane.

He rolled his eyes at her. ‘You’re welcome Arya.’ 

‘There, that wasn’t so hard was it?’

‘Did you come up here to give me a hard time? Because you needn’t have bothered, the lords were doing a spectacular job of it all on their own.’

‘I came up here to spend some time with my big brother. We’ve hardly seen each other since you got back, what with the army of the dead and all.’

Jon sighed and leaned back again. Tossing the reports to one side. ‘You know I’ve missed you. More than anyone, I’ve missed you.’ 

‘And I you.’ She’s replied with a sad smile. ‘There was a time, when I was training in Braavos.’ She cleared her throat and put her boots on the floor, leaning forward with her arms on her thighs. ‘I was supposed to dispose of anything that tied me to my former life, and I did. Except for Needle, I couldn’t get rid of Needle because Needle was you and there were times you were the only thing that kept me going.’ She sniffled a little, turned her head to the side and blinked rapidly. ‘I almost went to Kings Landing when I got back to Westeros, but then I heard that you had retaken Winterfell, so I came here instead.’

‘And I was already gone.’

Arya nodded. ‘I was in the Wintertown when you rode through, I was hoping you’d see me, then at the last moment I got nervous and looked away.’

‘Arya.’ His voice cracked with emotion and he held out an arm to her as she looked up. That was all she needed, the next moment she was curled against his chest like she used to do when she was little, he could feel her body tremble as she cried quietly and he felt tears on his own cheeks. 

They stayed that way until there were no tears left to cry and then slowly Arya told him about the years in between; father’s execution and travelling through the Riverlands with men bound for the Night’s Watch, she told him about Harrenhal and the Brotherhood, The Hound and The Twins. They both cried again when she told him about Robb’s body, though he had heard the stories hearing it from Arya was something different. She told him about Brianne and leaving Sandor to die, about training with the faceless men and the decision to finally come home.

In return he offered up his own past; the helplessness and pain of being trapped at the end of the world as their family fell apart. He told her about the Free Folk and Ygritte, crossing paths with Shaggy dog and Summer near Queen’s Crown, coming back to learn that everyone was dead or missing. He told her about becoming Lord Commander and the decision that ultimately got him killed, why he left and how Rickon died. Her faced soured at that. 

‘She told me she was the reason you won back Winterfell; she didn’t mention that she had kept information from you.’ 

‘She wouldn’t.’ He replied; his tone more bitter than he intended. He shook his head. ‘Sansa and I have never gotten along, you know that. She has very little respect for me.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true.’ Arya countered before Jon gave her a look. She sighed. ‘You’re probably right.’

‘I know we’ve all changed but in some ways we haven’t. I know you’ve formed some sort of friendship with her and I don’t begrudge you that, she’s your sister. But at her core Sansa is an elitist, she always has been, she has fought me at every turn; loudly. Often in front of the lords.’

‘She’s your sister too.’ Arya amended. 

_She’s not_

Jon sighed. ‘It’s not that simple.’

Arya winced. ‘It never was, was it?’ She leaned back against the pillows next to him and stared at the ceiling. ‘I mean it was for the others but not for us. Neither of us ever fit here, did we?’

‘No.’ Jon admitted, his gaze following Arya’s to the beams above them. Jon had always thought that it was his bastard status that had made him feel ill at ease in the ancestral home of the Starks, now though he suspected it was something else. As for Arya, she had never conformed to her mother’s strict views on ladyhood and so home had always felt constricting to her. 

‘I don’t plan on staying.’ She admitted.

‘I know.’

Arya turned to look at him, her face impassive save for her eyes, he wondered if anyone else could read her eyes like he could. ‘How do you know?’

‘Like I said; we changed but not completely. You were never good at standing still.’ 

‘What about you? You’re going south with your Queen?’

‘Aye. I pledged our support; I intend to follow through.’ 

Arya nodded, looking back up at the ceiling. ‘It’s not just about that though is it? I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.’

‘Arya.’ He replied in warning; he’d heard enough on the subject from Sansa. 

‘You need to be careful. She’s not one of us.’ Arya continued after a short silence. Jon grimaced; this again.

‘Shall we start marrying in the family then? If we can’t trust anyone outside house Stark our options are going to dry up pretty damn fast.’ He snapped. The conversation in the godswood flooding back and overshadowing the present, in his mind’s eye he could seem them as clear as day standing under the hearttree. Elitists and Isolationists, that was all that was left of House Stark. 

Arya scrunched up her face in disgust. ‘No, I’m not – ‘ She blew a gush of air out in frustration. ‘That’s not what I’m saying but she’s a foreign invader.’

‘A foreign invader who was born on our shores, who’s family forged the iron throne. You used to love stories of the Dragonlords.’

‘They were stories.’ She countered. 

‘And one day that’s all this will be. I’m not saying you have to love her or even like her. But you don’t know her. Sansa hates her because she wants an independent North regardless of wither or not that’s what’s best for the North. And you? What reason do you have?’

Arya started to answer him and then stopped. After a few moments she tried again. ‘Life hasn’t taught me to trust people.’

Jon closed his eyes for a moment, an old sorrow washing over him. Life hadn’t taught him to trust either, but the three-eyed-raven had made him do so, blinded him to slights and betrayals. Still he knew that trust was sometimes necessary. ‘we need allies, the North will not survive the coming Winter without food from the South. Do you think Cersei Lannister is going to bail us out when we run out of grain? If Daenerys is gone and the Ironborn return to their old ways do you think the Lannisters will come to our aid? The North is in ruin, it has been since Robb went south. Sansa may not want to admit it but we cannot survive on our own. Daenerys is our best hope and if that means kneeling than we kneel. I will not subject thousands of innocent men, women and children to starvation or raiders just to appease my pride, or Sansa’s or the other arrogant self-righteous lords of the North.’ He threw his head back and closed his eyes again. The bitter concoction the maseter had given him earlier was wearing off and the pain was starting to press in from every angle. Still he could feel Arya staring at him.

‘You’ve given this a lot of thought.’ She surmised.

‘You have no idea.’ Years; years of thought. He felt Arya get up from the bed, her boots thudding gently on the stone floor. 

‘You’re in pain. I’ll fetch the Maester and leave you to rest.’

‘Thank you.’ He turned his head to watch her leave and she shrugged her shoulders in response, a gesture that reminded him so fiercely of the little girl he knew that his breath caught for a moment. ‘You’re welcome, Jon.’ He corrected her lack of response. She snorted.

‘I’ve missed you, big brother.’ 

‘And I you little sister.’ 

‘We’re still alive.’

Jaime dropped the body he’d been dragging and turned to glare at his brother, who sat atop a short stone wall staring morosely into a cup of wine. ‘You’ve said that already. In fact, I don’t’ think you’ve said anything else for hours.’ 

‘I keep thinking if I say it often enough, I’ll start to believe it. So far it’s not working.’ 

Jaime dragged the edge of his cloak across his face, Despite the cold the work was enough to cause a sweat. ‘Perhaps if you helped with the cleanup, you’d feel more alive.’ He suggested with a bite. Tyrion looked up at him with that wide-eyed expression that used to work when they were children, at least with him.

‘But I’m too little to be of any help.’ He protested. 

Jaime sighed in exasperation and held up his gold hand. ‘One handed man.’ He shot back.

‘Strong one-handed man.’ Tyrion countered

‘Look! Over there!’ He pointed to the edge of the courtyard. ‘She can’t be more than six and she’s helping.’ He gestured wildly to a little girl in peasant clothes who was gathering dragonglass weapons.

‘Peasants are hardier stock.’

‘You are impossible.’ Jaime sighed and grabbed his own wineskin, taking a drag before focusing back on his brother. ‘What has gotten into you anyway? I’ve never seen you this pathetic.’ 

‘It’s a new look, I think it suits me.’ He replied dryly his gaze fixed on the battlements above them. Jaime followed his gaze and found the dragon Queen talking in what seemed to be hushed tones with her new Warden. 

‘Is that what this is about? Ugh Tyrion please tell me you are not in love with the Mother of Dragons.’ 

‘Of course I’m not in love – don’t be ridiculous.’ His brother snapped, downing what was apparently the last of his wine, he stared at the bottom of the cup as though it had betrayed him.

‘Don’t lie to me. I know you better than that. You’re in love with the pretty little Targaryen and you’ve lost her to Ned Stark’s bastard.’ He looked up at the two above them, heads close together, a gentle expression on the Queens face. ‘You had to have seen this coming, she’s young and beautiful and you – ‘

‘Are a demon monkey yes I know.’ 

‘Old. You’re old.’ Jaime countered, he had never made reference to Tyrion’s short comings, he was his brother, that was all that had ever mattered to him. ‘Look at the two of them, they’re young and gorgeous and powerful.’ He gestured toward them vaguely, trying to drag Tyrion out of his foul mood. ‘It’s only natural that they – ‘ He stopped, watching them, Jon Snow’s face cast in profile as he gazed at the Queen intently.

‘Natural they what?’ Tyrion prompted him. 

‘Fuck.’ Jaime whispered more to himself than to anyone else.

‘Well yes, believe me they’ve done their fair share of that. I shared a wall with her on the boat ride up here. Apparently that ridiculously long sword of his isn’t the only one he’s good with. And you know it’s not like she’s never taken lovers before but I have to admit there is something rather depressing about being overlooked for a boy I once gave life advice to, right here in this very yard. I mean, I understand that he’s good looking and all and are you even listening to me?’

‘Hum?’ Jaime turned back to face his brother, a distracted look on his face. ‘I think I need to go.’ He muttered.

‘Go where?’ Tyrion demanded.

Jaime, who had already wondered a few yards away turned back. ‘Somewhere…else. I’ll see you later Tyrion, try not to drink yourself to death before dinner.’ And with that he continued on his way leaving Tyrion to ponder the bottom of his cup again.

‘Poor, poor Demon Monkey.’ He muttered to himself. 

Daenerys stood at the battlements overlooking one of Winterfell’s many courtyards, the damage to the castle had been extensive, as was the body count. At the moment thousands of men and women were organizing the dead for burning while still more constructed a series of massive pyres. She had checked on Jon first thing this morning but found that he was still sleeping, she had visited with her remaining Dothraki and unsullied forces and even walked through the makeshift infirmary and talked with a number of the injured. Now though she found herself at loose ends, struggling to feel useful in a place she so clearly wasn’t wanted. 

Sighing heavily, she turned toward one of the towers to return to the castle but instead found Jon walking toward her. She couldn’t help the smile that graced her lips then nor the warm feeling that blossomed in her chest but it only took a moment for her to remember their last conversation and that feeling twisted into an unpleasant uncertainty.

‘Your Grace.’ He greeted. She took in his appearance as he approached; his hair was unbound, something she hadn’t seen outside of their nights together, the wounds to his temple and cheek were still livid, faint circles under his eyes and his skin paler even than was normal for him betrayed how tired he likely was. He came to stop an arm’s length from her and rested against the stone.

‘You’re up.’ She observed. Jon gave her a quick grin at the less than formal greeting.

‘I couldn’t stay in bed any longer. Besides, I wanted to know first-hand how things were going out here.’ 

‘And the Maester agreed to this?’ She questioned. Jon gave her a slightly guilty look. ‘Ah, and if your Queen orders you to go back to bed until a Maester agrees that you’re healed enough to be up?’ 

‘Then I shall have no choice but to oblige.’ He replied automatically. ‘But I was hoping you and I could speak.’

‘About our conversation the other night?’ She asked, though she thought it obvious, there was much to say about it.

So, it surprised her when he said: ‘No, about Ser Jorah.’ He reached out and took her hand in his, pulling her closer to him. ‘I know you were close to him, that he had been with you a long time. I wanted to make sure you were alright.’ 

Daenerys closed her eyes to stop the tears she felt gathering in their corners. ‘I am well, thank you.’ She replied, her voice slipping into that distant Queenly tone. She didn’t want to use this with him, she wanted to be open and honest with him. She wanted to break down and cry in his arms. But the ground beneath them felt so unsteady now. 

‘Dany.’ He whispered. 

‘I can’t. Not here.’ She replied, but she didn’t pull away from him. She didn’t have the strength to do so.

‘Alright. Have dinner with me. We can talk about everything.’ Jon suggested, leaning in closely to her. It felt intimate, like home. 

Daenerys smiled, a soft almost sad smile but she nodded her head at his invitation. ‘On one condition.’ She offered.

‘Aye, and what is that?’ He asked.

‘You go rest until then.’ She insisted, her smile widening at the look on his face, like a little boy who had been chastised by a parent.

‘As my Queen commands.’ He murmured to her in that gruff Northern accent, it sent shivers down her spine and she wondered if he knew the affect it had on her. She wondered if he still wanted her that way. She knew little of the North beyond what Jon and Ser Jorah had told her but she knew that such relations were not as common in this part of the country. The idea made her insides twist and lurch uncomfortably, a sense of panic rising up inside her chest. She placed a hand there as though that could possibly stop its ascent. 

‘Daenerys? What’s wrong?’ His voice, so erotic only moments before now sounded course and hard against her ears. She shook her head and held her other hand out to stop him, from the other side she was dimly aware of her guards taking a step in her direction. She took a deep breath and then another, eyes closed tight for a moment, abruptly she dropped her hands and opened her eyes.

‘I’m fine. Just tired.’ She assured her northern companion, she repeated the same to her guards in Valyrian, neither they nor Jon looked convinced. ‘Go lay down and rest Jon and I promise I will do the same. I’ll see you tonight.’ She promised with a smile. Jon looked as though he wanted to protest but he held back, instead he nodded his dark eyes following her as she turned and left, returning to the cold and unwelcoming halls or Winterfell. 

He dreamt of the beaches of Dragonstone, but there was no fortress atop the Dragonmount and no dragons swirling in the air above him, only wilderness, open skies and vast waters. He walked the shoreline, ocean spray dampening his hair and clothes. When he looked down, he saw that symbol again, like the fletch of an arrow, three V’s transected by a line. For a moment he felt as though he understood its significance here, then he woke, the skin on the back of his hands tingled where Rhaella had once caressed them, the pattern forming the same rune from the dream.

He shook off the furs from his bed and realizing the lateness of the hour he hurried as best he could to look less like he’d been asleep until moments ago. He grabbed a tie to pull his hair back but then reconsidered, he had given up the style when he’d been exiled, he’d worn his hair and beard much longer than they were now until he died. Leaving it down he straightened his clothing and fixed the furs atop the bed having only just finished when he heard the knock on his door. 

He took a deep breath before he made his way over and opened it. Daenerys stood on the other side looking as regal as ever; her hair an immaculate network of interconnected braids. She would have looked the perfect Queen if not for the dark circles beginning to appear beneath her eyes. Silently he bid her enter and her guards took up position in the corridor. 

‘Dinner should be up shortly.’ He assured her but she merely nodded. ‘Did you rest?’ She had said she would when he had come upon her earlier but he held little faith in the idea that she had.

She sighed, hand running along the side of her face. ‘I did try, but sleep eludes me.’ 

‘The battle?’ He hadn’t slept much after his first encounter with a wight, nor after Hardhome. He imagined there were many people lying awake after coming face to face with the army of the dead. 

Daenerys turned and sat unceremoniously on the edge of his bed. The image brought a wave of memories with it; the night of the feast, the heated discussion they had had here in this room, another nail in the coffin of their relationship. He had been an idiot that night, of that he had no doubt but Daenerys had also pushed too hard. Time and distance had lent him the perspective to see her attempts for what they were; a woman watching as her world fell apart, trying desperately to hold on to something good. She had needed his assurance as much as he had needed hers, neither of them had gotten what they needed and all of Westeros had suffered for it. 

‘I can’t believe he’s gone.’ She whispered harshly. ‘He’s been with me since my wedding to Khal Drogo. And he died, right there _in front of me!’_ Suddenly she sobbed loudly, a hand flying up to cover her mouth as her shoulders started to shake. Jon sat next to her, pulling her close against his side. ‘I failed him.’ She cried as she laid her head against his shoulder. 

‘How?’ He asked.

‘I promised to protect my people and I’ve gotten them all killed.’ She told him, her hands seeking to hold onto his, he grasped them in his own and gave them a squeeze.

‘Your people, the ones you brought to Westeros, they are soldiers; fighters. Ser Jorah pledged to protect _you; _he was prepared to lay down his life for you as all your soldiers are. You don’t need to worry that you failed Ser Jorah, be the Queen he believed in and you will honour his memory.’

Daenerys inhaled deeply, her small frame still trembling but she pulled herself back from him as the servants announced themselves on the other side of the door. She stood and went to a window, looking out at the torch lit courtyard to hide her red swollen eyes as they laid out the food on the table by the hearth. 

Daenerys sat in silence as she tried to eat, picking mostly at hard cheese and roasted vegetables. Jon wondered how he had missed this side of her, how it was that she had faded away right there in front of him and he hadn’t noticed. Was it The-Three-eyed-Raven? Or was he simply too immersed in his own problems? ‘You should try to eat something.’ He offered gently.

Daenerys dropped her fork instead. ‘We need to talk.’ She said. Jon took a sip of his ale and leaned back. ‘The throne – ‘

‘I don’t want it. You must know that?’

Daenerys sighed, her hand going back to rub her temple in a gesture of frustration, she seemed more frayed than he remembered her being at this point the first time around. Was it because he had reached out to her? ‘What you want and what the rest of Westeros will want are two different things. You are a man; you were raised on these shores by a Lord everyone agrees was honorable and just. How many of the lords would choose me over you?’

‘They would have to know there as an option at all.’ She lowered her hand and looked at him. ‘I have already spoken to Sam; he has sworn to keep it to himself. I will speak to Bran as soon as I can.’ A conversation he wasn’t looking forward to. ‘I have no intention of sharing this with anyone.’ It had caused nothing but pain before.

She stared at him in what could only be described as bewilderment. ‘What of your sisters? You don’t wish to tell them?’

_I need you to swear _

Jon grimaced. ‘No, I don’t plan to tell my sisters.’ He replaced his mug and leaned forward. ‘One day, perhaps. When your reign is secure, I may like to tell Arya but I will discuss it with you first.’

‘Jon- ‘

‘I understand that this puts both of us in danger. You especially. I have no desire to jeopardize your safety, just as I have no desire to sit on that damn throne.’

Daenerys sighed, a ragged shuddered sound. She looked close to tears again. ‘Thank you.’ She whispered.

‘Dany.’ He reached across the table and she obliged, laying her hand in his. ‘Dany, I love you. Since Sam told me the truth, I’ve been running circles in my head, thinking about what this means for us. My upbringing in the North tells me that this is wrong, that we cannot be together.’

‘My upbringing tells me something very different.’ Daenerys replied softly.

‘I understand that. I – ‘he faltered, he knew where his mind wanted to take the conversation, he knew there was a danger to divulging too much, if she even believed him. 

‘What?’ She questioned. 

‘I saw something when I hit my head.’

Dany give a weak smile. ‘Stars?’

Jon ignored her. ‘I saw – ‘he struggled for the right words. How do you describe another life? He wondered. But had it been? He had been sure of it only yesterday, now though; some moments it seemed half a dream, the hallucination of an injured mind, other moments it seemed more real than this was, images of that past threatening to blot out the present. ‘I saw a future, perhaps it was only a dream but it felt so real.’ He urged her to understand. ‘We never – we were never together again; I couldn’t find a way to deal with our relation and so much happened with the war. We drifted apart.’

‘Jon.’ She said it softly, a hint of sympathy in her tone.

‘You died.’ He said it more roughly than he intended to. He had no intentions of telling her what she had done, even if she didn’t believe it was more than a hallucination. She sat back from him, finger tips pulling away from his hand. He pulled his back and dropped it to his lap. ‘You won, but you died shortly after and I lived the rest of my life beyond the wall; thinking about how I had failed you. How alone you had been at the end because I couldn’t move passed what I was told.’ He felt tears threatening to fall, he saw them in her eyes too, as she stared absently across the room.

‘Have you ever had a dream before that came true?’ She asked after a time.

‘I – ‘He stopped and thought for a moment. ‘I used to dream about the kings of winter rising from their tombs.’ He gave a half grin. ‘I suppose Sansa would say that came true.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I dreamt about the army of the dead before I ever saw them.’

Daenerys turned to watch him carefully. ‘My dreams come true. I have seen many things; I even saw you years before I sailed for Westeros.’

‘Me?’

She nodded, finally taking her cup and sipping the wine. ‘A shadowed lover. A blue rose growing in a wall of ice. It is a blessing or a curse of house Targaryen. It saved us from the doom, it led me to my dragons.’ She swirled the wine in her cup, watching it. ‘If what you saw is true – ‘

‘I’m not saying that it is.’ He insisted.

‘Still, if we can take steps to prevent my – death, then we must do so.’

‘Of course, Daenerys. I will do anything to prevent what I saw from coming to pass but we don’t even know if it was a vision.’

‘How did I die?’

Jon froze, ice creeping through his veins. ‘You were stabbed.’ He muttered unable to control the hitch in his voice. He shut his eyes in the hopes that he could block out the imagine of her in his arms, dagger in her heart, a gentle trickle of blood escaping from her mouth and nose. 

‘By who?’

_By me _

‘I don’t know.’ She raised an eyebrow at him and he lowered his eyes from her, gods he hated lying. ‘I don’t remember everything. Details…what I remember most are feelings, impressions. I know there were many mistakes made before hand, things that led to that final moment.’ A part of him wanted to tell her the whole truth of it, that it had been him, to feel her wrath because he deserved it. But it would serve her no good in the end. 

Daenerys slumped back against her chair. ‘There have already been many mistakes, it seems my hand is very good at those.’ 

‘Tyrion doesn’t seem as sharp as he was once.’ Jon concurred. Again, he knew it was the influence of the Raven.

‘Is he not? Or is he a Lannister first and my hand second?’ She questioned, obviously this had been on her mind for some time.

Jon sighed. ‘It’s not easy to go against one’s family, even if they weren’t particularly kind.’

She softened somewhat. ‘I know that, I do. But he came to me with words of how much he hated them and now? Now I fear he leads me to ruin to protect them.’ Did he? Was that the Raven too? Or Tyrion’s own sense of loyalty? In truth Jon had little desire to lay eyes on the Imp of Casterly Rock again. Their final two meetings laying heavily on his mind. Tyrion had been so sure of the course of action needed, so sure of right and wrong. Jon had let him lead in a moment of weakness and then he’d been punished for it while Tyrion had all but been given the reins to the kingdom. 

‘We won’t let him.’ He assured her. ‘He may be good at talking his way out of problems but he is not a military leader; let Grey Worm and I plan the next stage.’

Daenerys nodded, looking down at her half-eaten dinner, gone cold now. ‘The Starks have married in the family before.’ She said suddenly, the change of topic throwing him off for a moment. Slowly he nodded, silently wondering why he had failed to remember that before. The first Sansa Stark in fact.

‘Only when considered politically necessary. But yes, they have.’ He answered her.

She hesitated. ‘What if it were politically necessary?’

‘What?’ He asked, unsure where she was going with this.

‘Us.’ She clarified. ‘Ser Davos suggested that we – marry. It would appease the Northern Lords.’

_Be with me_

‘It would unite the realm.’ She continued. ‘But I don’t want a husband who cannot love me. Cannot lay with me because of our shared blood. I love you Jon, more than I have ever loved anyone but I will not condemn either of us to that kind of a marriage.’ Her voice hitched a little at the end, her beautiful violet eyes wide and questioning. 

In that other life he had never had the chance to come to terms with his parentage before everything fell apart. When she had kissed him after the feast, he had been too conflicted, disgusted not with her but with himself for the way he continued to feel about her. When she had kissed him on Dragonstone he hadn’t recognized her anymore, this stranger who had taken the place of the woman he loved. In the long days that had followed her death he had come to the realization that he could have allowed himself to love her, that doing so would not only have saved both of them a world of pain but also could have saved thousands of innocent lives. For the remaining years of his life he teetered back and forth between believing their love had been a curse and believing it was the only thing that could have saved her. 

_It is not so terrible a thing is it? To ask you to love a beautiful girl?’ _

Rhaella’s words came back to him across the distance of worlds and as he watched her watching him, so vulnerable and alone he realized he already knew the answer. Rising from his chair he walked around the table to her, he placed his hands on her neck and gently raised her face with his thumbs against her jaw. He leaned down, breathing in the smell of her, so familiar and yet distant like a half-forgotten dream. Slowly he lowered his lips to hers; gently, a barely there kiss, a promise to love her. She trembled against him, eyes closed and lips parted slightly. 

She rose from her chair to stand before him, her hands coming up to lay over his, she came back for another kiss, this one deeper, he ran his tongue over her lips and she allowed him entry, pressing her body up against his. He took his time; the kiss was deep and passionate but unhurried. Her hands wandered to his hair, brushing through his curls scraping against the wound near his temple, he hissed in pain and she stilled, eyes wide as she backed away.

‘Don’t worry about it.’ He told her, pulling her back to him. His hands drifted to the softly spun wool of her dress, it was by some miracle that he remembered how it came apart, the hidden hooks and laces she favored. His hands worked to free her of the garment as she drew him back in for another kiss, unlike his there was an edge of desperation to hers, so clearly longing for proof that she still had him to hold on to. 

Once he was through with the lacings, he pushed the dress off her shoulders and she let it fall to the floor, leaving her in a light undershirt and a pair of fine woolen riding breeches. Her hands came up to free him of his gambeson and he helped her with its fastenings, quickly discarding the garment, she pulled his undershirt over his head, fingers trailing back down his chest, nails catching on the scars that littered his torso. She bent forward slightly so she could kiss the one that lay over his heart as her hands continued their journey south. He stopped her as she reached the top of his breeches, catching her hands in his. She looked up at him with startled eyes but he shook his head and gave her a playful smile, hoping to allay her fears.

He pulled the hem of her own shirt over her head letting it fall to the floor, his hands following the same path hers had taken, but he stopped at her breasts, cupping them in his hands as he ran his thumbs over her nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. Any restraint he had over his own body gave way then as his cock pulsed painfully against his laces. She whimpered slightly as her lips found his again, the kiss more fevered this time. 

He turned them round, so her back was to the bed and walked them backwards slowly, when her legs hit the edge of the bed, he stopped kissing her, reaching down to undo the ties on her breeches, she tried to return the favor but again he stopped her. ‘Not yet.’ His voice was dark and husky even to his own ears. ‘Sit down.’ He ordered, and it was an order, he surprised himself with the force of it, she surprised him even more when she complied, watching him with dark hooded eyes. He dropped to his knees before her, undoing the fastenings of her boots and pulling them off along with her stockings, she continued to watch him as she leaned back on her elbows, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. 

When he reached up for the waist of her breeches, she raised her hips to help him and he slipped them down her legs revealing the thatch of silver-gold curls at the apex of her thighs, he threw them off to the side somewhere as he stared at her face, trying to memorize every detail just in case he woke tomorrow somewhere beyond the wall and all of this was his fevered imagination.

He took hold of each leg, stroking the insides of her calves as she stared back at him, a look of anticipation on her beautiful face. Slowly he lowered his face, keeping eye contact with her until the last moment, then he turned his face and kissed the inside of her thigh just above her knee. With all the patience he could muster he very slowly kissed his way closer, teeth dragging and nipping her skin gently, each time eliciting a sigh, a shiver, a ragged inhale of breath. He made it almost…there, to the center of her heat; he could smell her, that scent that was uniquely her, he could feel the softness of her curls against his face. He summoned all the self-discipline he had acquired from years of denying his own urges and tore himself away, bringing his lips to her other leg, starting the journey all over again. On the bed she threw herself down on her back; a tortured and frustrated laugh escaping her. He smirked against her thigh. When he finally made it to his destination he dragged his tongue through her folds, already so wet for him, circling the little bud at the top, he nearly thought she would come undone right then, she squirmed and yelped from the contact after so much build up, her hips bucking and her feet scrambling for purchase on the bed. 

He found himself grinning again, enjoying the pleasure he could cause her nearly as much as he enjoyed his own. He returned to his task with determination, tongue lapping up her juices, teasing the delicate flesh of her sex, he drew that bud into his mouth and sucked gently, causing her to cry out, her voice dark and deep and sensual against his ears. He plunged his tongue into her opening, mimicking the motions of his cock, curving the tip up to stroke her inner walls as well as he could. She moaned, one hand finding his hair as the other gripped the furs. She grabbed a handful of curls, weaving her fingers through them and tugging, the pain aroused him still more than he already was. He redoubled his efforts, his mouth returning to her sensitive nub while he slipped a finger and then two into the warm depths of her cunt. He could feel the warm silky walls convulse around his fingers, her muscles pulling tight as she reached her peak, with another cry and a whimper she came undone, her hips straining, her body convulsing around him, he slid his fingers out of her, his tongue giving her one last thorough lick causing her to shudder violently as she tried to come down. 

He removed himself from her, standing and kicking off his own boots, he made quick work of his lacings and pushed his breeches down and away, the cool air as it hit his cock caused it to twitch as aroused as he was. 

He climbed onto the bed, hovering over her as she pulled herself back together, he kissed her lips and she kissed him back, moaning as she tasted herself on his lips, on his beard. He lowered his body onto hers but she suddenly pushed up, rolling him onto his back with her hands and her hips. He stared at her with a grin, if she wanted to ride then so be it. He loved to watch her; her hands wandering over her own body, pinching her nipples as she came apart above him. But instead she gave him a wicked smirk and moved lower, she gripped his member in her soft hand, gently stroking him and he sighed, eyes fluttering closed as he allowed himself to enjoy the sensation. She found that spot, just on the underside of the head and caressed it, his breath hitched and he felt himself shudder, cock twitching within her grasp. 

The surprising sensation of wet warmth caused him to reopen his eyes and look down, his arousal intensifying even further as he watched his Queen, the mother of Dragons slowly lower her mouth over his manhood, making it disappear in the most torrid way. She eyed him devilishly through the strands of her silver hair that had fallen forward, making a show of slowly taking in as much as she took, much more than he thought she could, and then slowly rising up again, her tongue swirling over his sensitive head as she did so. He was caught between throwing his head back and giving in to the pleasure or keeping his eyes on her as she put on her show. She was headed back down now, and he found himself unable to look away, she took more in, so far down he could feel what he assumed was the back of her throat, he sucked in a ragged breath, she hummed to herself, the vibration rippling through him as she continued to push him down. He groaned and he felt her hand caress his sac, the sensation not overwhelming until she reached the delicate skin behind it and he found himself moaning her name. she had nearly taken him to the hilt now, and the sight was one of the most erotic things he had ever seen, not that he was an expert on such. Apparently having reached her limit she began to withdraw again, her other hand coming to work his shaft as she pulled back up, she went faster after that, both hands working in tandem with her hot wet mouth and he found his hips bucking up even as he tried to control himself. 

Eventually, when he thought he could take no more and he would lose himself, spilling his seed in her mouth, she pulled off with a pop and grinned at him with a look that clearly let him know she was aware of how close he had been. 

She crawled up to lay next to him, her lips red and swollen and her face as flushed as his must be. He turned to his side to face her, running his fingers down her face and neck, leaving goosebumps in his wake, down her chest until he reached a nipple, he pinched it gently, rolling it between his fingers and relishing her moans as it hardened further. He lowered his face, taking it into his mouth and suckling, swirling his tongue over it as she had his cock. She arched her back in response, groaning as her fingers once again found his curls, her hips thrust against his, pressing his erection into the smooth flesh of her belly. Unable to take anymore he rolled her over and she opened her legs for him, seemingly without conscience thought. He positioned himself at her entrance, feeling the slick warmth of her on the tip of his cock. He moved his lips back to hers, kissing her deeply as he slowly pushed himself into her, the sensation at once both familiar and distant. He broke the kiss, desperate for air as he began to rock into her, she met him thrust for thrust, her chest pressed tightly against his, she slid her lips to his ear and moaned, nipping at his earlobe, making him shiver down to the bone. 

He could feel the tension in her body increase, like a bow pulled tight, he picked up the pace, crashing into her with more force. She cried out in pleasure beneath him, head thrown back and eyes closed in ecstasy as her walls spasmed around him begging him to join her in rapture. He could feel the sweat on his brow, feel it pooling between their bodies, he changed the tempo as she started to come down, taking longer, more forceful thrusts, he let himself go to the sensation, allowed the world and all the problems that came with it to disappear completely and just be in this moment. Beneath him she trembled, her body quaking with aftershocks, a smile on her perfect face, her eyes half open; watching him. He could feel the familiar tightening down low as his own release neared.

‘Cum for me.’ She whispered, her voice husky and so he did. It exploded over him, washing away any thought that had been left to him, he jerked his hips thrusting as deeply as he could as his cock pulsed within her, spilling his seed. He laid his forehead against hers as he tried to tame his breathing, tried to steady the tremor in his limbs. She reached up and ran a hand gently through his hair again, mindful of the wound. The smile on her face was peaceful and serene. ‘I love you.’ She whispered. 

‘And I love you.’ He answered back. And he did, that had never been in question for him. He had loved her even as he struggled with his relation to her, he had loved her as she fell apart, he had loved her as she burnt the world and he had loved her as he killed her. 

But had he killed her? Lying there with her as she started to drift off into sleep he wondered again if any of it had been real at all, perhaps it was nothing but a nightmare. Still he felt the overwhelming feeling that he had to stop it from coming to pass. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am totally against the idea of Tyrion being in love with Dany, I think it cheapens the relationship that they almost, sort of had going on. But in interest of trying to explain the weirdness that was Tyrion in the last two seasons I’ve decided that he was infatuated with her. In the show he admits to Jon that he loved her too, honestly I don't see it but if he had been a bit taken with her only to realize she was never going to feel that way about him it would be possible that he started fixating on her less appalling traits like the burning of the Tarly's...which made perfect sense! Of course it's all helped along by the Raven. 
> 
> The incest thing drives me crazy, as someone who loves British history I find nothing odd about the practice for this era. And it was practiced in House Stark, it would not have been as big a deal as they made it out to be. Especially since, as Davos pointed out, it would have solved a lot of problems! I mean sure, Jon would have been thrown off for a while but I don't he would have been so horrified that he couldn't touch her again.   
In fact the show itself couldn't seem to make up its mind early on either. He ignores her when he leans the truth but when she comes to him in the crypts he readily accepts her touch and draws her close to him, he also laughs at Sam's joke about Edd not being fucked. If we're using modern sensibilities here (which we shouldn't be) he wouldn't do either. If you'd just realized you'd been sleeping with a close blood relative by accident you would probably be horrified by anything that reminded you of it. 
> 
> Anyway, enough ranting from me


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: Jon’s relationship with Sansa is going to be strained. No way around it. I am endeavoring not to make her seem too much like a villain. Hopefully I will be able to write her perspective further on. For now, we see her mostly from Jon and Daenerys point of view which isn’t terribly favourable.

Chapter Four

_The merchant came from somewhere in The Reach, looking to establish trade routes with the True North. He wasn’t the first to venture Beyond the Wall since the end of the wars, some came out of a sense of adventure, some were looking for something that couldn’t be find on any map and some, like this one had wanted to see if there was coin to be made. _

_ He was a jolly sort of fellow and he got along with the Free Folk better than those that had come before. Jon would have been only too glad to return to his tent for the night but Tormund had all but forced him to stay, handing him horn after horn of ale and insisting that he was the only one who understood Southerners. Jon had swallowed the bitter ale and shut his mouth, half listening to the man and his tales of the kingdoms south of the wall. He often swung wildly from one extreme to the other, sometimes he was easily angered and quick to pick a fight at other times he could barely find the desire to take care of himself let alone defend a slight or an insult. Tonight, he felt that familiar malaise about him. Around him the Free Folk laughed at the man’s story but Jon had no idea what he had been saying nor did he care. News from Westeros didn’t concern him any longer and he wanted no part of it. It wasn’t until he heard the word Winterfell that he looked up from the camp fire they were all siting around. _

_ ‘I stopped there on the way North, I’ve been told it took heavy damage during the bat’le with the dead, but ya wouldn’t know it now. Huge castle.’ _

_ ‘Aye.’ Tormund agreed. ‘Biggest one I’ve ever seen.’_

_ ‘It’s the only one you’ve ever seen!’ Someone shouted. _

_ Tormund roared with laughter. ‘Only one you’ve seen maybe; me? I’ve seen two!’ _

_ ‘The Queen in the North is a pretty thing.’ The man continued; Jon wondered if Tormund would defend her honour on his behalf, he knew he wouldn’t be able to find the will to do it himself. What did he care anyway? ‘Cold as ice, mind. She wears a crown of wolves on her head, finest metal work I’ve ever seen, I could retire on a piece like that.’_

_ Jon felt blood rushing in his ears, forced the ale that was making its way up to stay where it was. He stood abruptly, spilling what was left in his horn. Tormund stared at him with a concerned expression on his face but Jon shook his head. He turned and stalked off into the darkness._

Jon woke in darkness, head pounding with every beat of his heart. He hissed at the pain, shoving the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to block it out. Beside him Daenerys stirred, the furs rustling as she turned over. ‘Jon?’ She reached out a hand, laying it on his chest. ‘Your head again?’

He groaned in response. 

‘What can I do?

‘On the table by the window, the Maester left a flask in case the pain returned.’ He managed to force out through clinched teeth, she left the bed and patted across the room. When she returned, she helped him drink down the concoction before she scrambled back under the furs and pressed herself to his side. 

‘It’s cold.’ She muttered. He ran a hand up and down her arm while he waited for the medicine to start working. ‘I’m not making it worse, am I?’ She asked, keeping her voice low.

Jon turned to face her, leaning his forehead against hers. ‘Not at all.’ He assured her. They stayed that way as the pain receded, when he felt it had reached a manageable level, he kissed her forehead and sighed, hating what he had to say. 

‘What?’ She asked. 

‘If you stay here, everyone will know come morning.’ They had talked about this on the way from White Harbour, they had agreed it would be better for both their sakes, though especially for her, if they kept their relationship out of the public eye. Her guards outside his door all night was bound to cause talk.

Beside him Dany stiffened. ‘Let them know.’ She finally replied with iron in her voice. Jon opened his eyes to look at her, her face barely visible in the faint candle light, she looked determined and yet oddly fragile. 

He tailed a finger down her hairline, tucking a piece of her silver hair behind her ear as he went. ‘Are you sure?’ He asked. ‘There will be talk.’ 

‘There’s nothing they can say that I haven’t heard.’ She told him. ‘Besides, I mean to make you my husband. What will they say then?’ 

Jon kissed her forehead and pulled her closer. ‘I’m sure they will say plenty.’

‘Do you want me to leave?’ She asked after a moment, he could feel the tension in her body.

He took a deep breath and kissed the top of her head. ‘No,’ he answered honestly. ‘I want you to stay forever.’

‘Good.’ She whispered against him. They stayed that way until he felt her body relax, sleep reclaiming her. He watched her peaceful form in the half-light for a while, trying to reconcile this loving woman with the tyrant who destroyed Kings Landing. When he had met her on the ramparts earlier in the day; he had looked for her behind her violet eyes. He had measured her words this evening and studied her body language. The pain was there, the isolation was beginning to wore her down he knew, but he saw little trace of the bitter ruthless despot bent on conquering the world. He prayed to whatever gods had brought him back that he would be able to keep her from devouring the woman he loved. 

‘We need to talk.’

_Are you going to start wearing a crown now?_

_She wears a crown of wolves_

Jon felt a stab a pain arch through his temple as Sansa caught up with him in the corridor that led from the family rooms, her long legged stride overtaking him in seconds. He hadn’t laid eyes on her since his return not that he’d gone out of his way to find her. She was dressed as severely as he remembered, her lovely ivory face as cold as her mother’s had been.

‘Good day to you as well Sansa.’ He replied. He remembered well enough how accommodating and cordial he had been with her no matter what she did or said. Now, freed from the influence of the Raven he couldn’t begin to fathom how he had maintained such control. 

She scoffed, laying a hand on his shoulder and turning to stop him from continuing. ‘She spent the night in your rooms.’ She hissed under her breath. 

‘I’m aware of that.’ 

‘And you see no issue with it? You do realize that this will spread, the maids are bound to talk. It was bad enough when you were staring at her like a lovesick boy, now the entire castle will know that she’s…’

‘She’s what?’ He asked her menacingly. She removed her hand from his shoulder and glared at him.

‘What do you hope to get out of this?’ She asked quietly. ‘She is a Targaryen and you are a Snow.’

‘Sansa – ‘

‘She’s using you Jon! And she has you so turned around you can’t even see it. She will get her throne; she will get the North and what will we get?’ 

‘Food, when our stores run dry.’ He snapped back at her and then stormed passed, taking the nearest stairwell to the courtyard below. 

He didn’t stop until he reached the outer wall, taking a minute to brace himself against it as he sought to control his anger. Around him men and women continued to work at the cleanup. Most of the bodies had been removed and wheel barrels were being used to transport rubble to be sorted and reused in repairs where possible. 

‘I’ll give you this; you Northerners are efficient.’ 

Cursing silently Jon turned at the arrogant sound of Jaime Lannister’s voice. The golden-lion, looking considerably more grey than Jon remembered from all those years ago, was leaning against the outer wall as well. He gave the impression that he had been there observing for some time but Jon could see the dust on his clothes and the dirt on his hand. 

‘Ser Jaime.’ Jon greeted, not bothering to sound any more civil than he felt at the moment. Jaime Lannister was a man who had crossed Jon’s mind more than he cared to admit in his final years. The parallels between them were not lost on him but faced with the opportunity to talk to the man and he was once again caught off guard by his casual arrogance. Was it a form of defense? He wondered. 

‘Lord Snow’ He replied. ‘I suppose I owe you an apology.’ 

Jon raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Oh?’

‘I mocked you, all those years ago. For joining the Night’s Watch. Turns out there was something to fear out there.’ 

Jon sighed as he took in the buzz of activity around the yard. ‘I hardly joined the Watch because I believed in White walker’s and giant Ice spiders.’ He countered.

Jaime watched him curiously. ‘No. Everyone knew why you joined the watch. It’s strange how life works out sometimes isn’t it?’

Jon gave him a hard look, trying to determine the point of this conversation, to his surprise Jaime was watching him thoughtfully, looking for something. It made Jon’s skin prickle uncomfortably. ‘Yes, it is.’ He agreed, thinking of nothing more to say to the man who had killed his grandfather in an act Jon understood all too well. 

After a moment Jaime scrunched up his face. ‘There aren’t are there?’ He asked out of nowhere.

‘Aren’t what?’

‘Giant Ice Spiders.’ He clarified.

‘Gods I hope not.’

Daenerys came upon her Hand as she made her way down to the Great Hall to break her fast. 

‘Good Morning Your Grace.’ He greeted.

‘Lord Hand.’ 

‘I trust you slept well.’ The words were innocent enough but they held just a hint of a reprimand in them, obviously he had already been informed about her whereabouts last night. Still, she was Queen and she had no intentions of being chastised like a naughty child and certainly not by Tyrion Lannister. 

‘Quite well, thank you.’ She answered without a hint of remorse; he could take that however he chose. ‘I would like a word with you my Lord.’

‘Of course, Your Grace, we could convene after the morning meal – ‘

‘Now My Lord.’

Tyrion grimaced slightly. ‘Of course.’

She was by now familiar enough with Winterfell to know the basic layout, they weren’t far from the library and it was there that she led him finding it deserted at this early hour. She glanced idly at the maps of Westeros that had been left on the main table. She had to admit it was a handsome room; Tyrion had told her it was the most comprehensive library outside of the Citadel, containing texts that existed nowhere else. The space itself was adorned with dozens of carefully craved direwolves and tall stained-glass windows. 

‘A rather simple solution to my current predicament with the North was suggested to me recently.’ She informed him as she examined one of the many wolves. 

Tyrion cleared his throat. ‘Oh?’

‘Yes, one that I’m surprised my own Hand had not thought of.’ She turned to look at him, noting the uncomfortable shift in his features, the set of his shoulders. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

‘It’s not entirely simplistic Your Grace. Jon Snow may be a proven war hero and a leader to his people but he is just that; a Snow. The southern Lords are not like to look favourably on a bastard King Consort.’ Tyrion’s words caused a spark of anger deep in her belly, she had freed slaves in Essos but in Westeros she was expected to pander to their rigid social hierarchy but when she said as much, he gave her that pained expression again. ‘That Hierarchy is what you are depending on to secure your throne.’

She bristled at that. She had come to break the wheel and yet the wheel was the very thing that would give her the power she needed to do so. _Slowly_, she reminded herself. She had to do things slowly, lest there be chaos as there was in The Bay of Dragons, the people of Westeros were not slaves, they did not suffer under the whip. They could afford to wait while she dismantled the wheel. But on this point, she had no desire to back down. Jon would stand by her side; it was the safest place for both of them. If the truth of his parentage got out it would be much easier to pacify those who would demand he take the throne if he already had a crown on his head. She turned her attention to the stain-glass windows, mercifully spared during the battle. The scenes depicted direwolves and weirwood trees and the construction of Winterfell. 

In truth she wanted Jon by her side for other, more personal reasons. This morning as they had laid abed after another round of lovemaking, Jon tracing lazy patterns on her back everything had been so clear; how she felt about him, how much she feared losing him, what needed to be done to ensure that didn’t happen. She had mentioned the idea again; of them marrying, he had watched her quietly for a while, his gaze seeming to search her face for – something, eventually he had leaned in and kissed her gently before he rested his forehead against hers. ‘It would appease the Northern houses.’ He had whispered. ‘And it would make their Warden very happy. But it will not please everyone.’ 

In the present she said: ‘I will be expected to marry, as I understand it my options are limited. Edmure Tully is married, the Tyrells are dead, the Lord of the Vale is a child, Brandon Stark is crippled.’ And cold and eerie she left unsaid. ‘Dorne is in chaos again. I suppose Yara Greyjoy is an option.’

‘You jape I know though I suspect Lady Yara would be agreeable.’ He gave her a grin then he quickly turned serious again. He was always serious these days, especially where she was concerned, she wondered if she frightened him. For some reason the thought made her sad. ‘I know you love him; I know he loves you. That’s the worst kept secret in the North. And I am not implying he would be bad at the role, quite the opposite in fact, he is wonderful with the smallfolk and he is admired for his skill on the battlefield but if you think it will be universally accepted I’m sorry to tell you that you are mistaken.’

‘Nothing I have ever done has been universally accepted My Lord.’ She countered. 

Tyrion walked closer to her, looking up at her through his unruly blonde curls. ‘I can see you’ve already made up your mind.’ 

‘I have.’

Tyrion nodded, more to himself than to her. ‘Then I am at your service. I will endeavor to make this as easy as possible for both of you.’

‘Thank you, my Lord.’ She said with a nod. ‘We can discuss the details at a later time.’

‘As you wish Your Grace.’ With a wave of her hand she dismissed him and sent him on his way. She took a moment for herself then, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, before she arranged her expression to one of royal neutrality and continued on her way to the Great Hall. 

When she arrived, she found Jon already seated at the head table with Lady Stark at his side, even from a distance she could tell they were not in a good mood. As people recognized her, they stood, bowing to her until she bid them all to continued their meals. She noticed that the smallfolk and the wildings seemed to have warmed to her considerably since the battle, though the Lords still observed her with careful, appraising expressions. When she reached the head table Jon and his sisters stood, showing her the respect that was expected of a Warden and his family for his Ruler. She nodded her acknowledgement and sat down on Jon’s other side allowing them to return to their food as well. Privately she would have liked to have kept Sansa Stark standing a little longer but pettiness was not helpful. 

‘Your Grace.’ Jon greeted. No hint that mere hours before she had been riding him like a Dothraki stallion, the thought made heat serge between her legs and she pressed her thighs together to quell the ache. 

‘My Lord.’ She returned; her tone as neutral as her expression. On Jon’s other side Lady Stark let out a small scoff, the sound was minor enough to be overlooked but by the expression on Jon’s face she imagined this was not the first instance this morning. 

‘Do you have something to say Sister?’ Jon asked, he voice laced with warning. As Daenerys suspected however, Sansa was not one to be quieted by a few words. 

‘It would not be appropriate to voice such concerns in public.’ Sansa replied, her tone biting, Jon scowled.

‘Then perhaps you should hold your tongue entirely.’ He suggested. Sansa glared at him, obviously not having expected him to bite back. Abruptly she stood from her half-finished meal.

‘Sansa.’ Arya began next to her. 

‘I find I do not have much of an appetite this morn. If you will excuse me My Lord, Your Grace.’ She bowed her head to Jon and Daenerys in turn and walked from the hall with her head held high. 

Next to her Jon sighed, a sound of exasperation. 

‘I take it she noticed the guards.’ Daenerys commented after a servant girl laid a plate in front of her and filled her cup with honeyed milk. 

‘It would seem so.’ 

‘They’re hard to miss.’ Arya commented from down the table; Jon turned to glare at his youngest sister but she held up a hand in surrender. ‘I’m not saying anything about it.’ She told him. 

Jon sighed and shook his head, turning his attention back to Dany. ‘I’m sorry for her behavior.’ He told her; she could tell it bothered him far more than he wanted to admit. On the trip from Dragonstone she had asked him all about Winterfell and the North but especially about his family. He had told her about Sansa’s beauty and her intelligence, her resilience, he had explained that they had not always been close but he had expressed hope that they had put that past behind them. He had wanted Daenerys to like his family, he had wanted his family to like her. It was such a simple wish and Dany had found that she shared it. She had never had a family, not really and here was this man who loved her and who wanted to share his with her. She had tried repeatedly to win over the formidable Lady Stark, but as with so many things since coming to this country, she was failing miserably. 

‘It’s hardly your fault.’ She consoled, still he looked perturbed. ‘I spoke with Tyrion earlier.’ She told him, hoping the change of topic would help matters. 

‘Oh?’

‘He has agreed with the wisdom of my suggestion.’ She told him. She smiled slightly as he choked on his drink. He returned the cup to the table of stared at her incredulously. 

‘He…?’

Daenerys laughed. ‘He agreed that it would make sense, for the most part. Of course, there will be a few issues to work out but he has agreed to help.’ Not that it mattered what Tyrion Lannister thought. Or maybe it did. Tyrion too had been a friend once, she had felt close to him on occasion and suddenly things between them had changed, she knew she had been hard on him after his military failures but she wasn’t sure that was the source of it. At some point since coming to this accursed continent he had pulled away from her, had started turning to his cups more and more, he rarely looked her in the eye anymore.

‘Dany.’ Next to her Jon whispered her name, she turned to find him watching her with a concerned expression. ‘You disappeared there for a moment. What were you thinking about?’

She shook her head and smiled. ‘Nothing important.’ She assured him. ‘Is everything still on schedule for tomorrow?’

Jon nodded. ‘Aye. We’ll light the pyres at midday.’ He answered solemnly.

‘You are up to leading the ceremony?’ She thought of the headache that had woken him last night. 

‘I’ll be fine.’ He replied. ‘The feast will be held the day after.’ 

‘I would like to meet with our advisors as soon as possible.’ She informed him. ‘I would like our relationship to be made official. Perhaps that will satisfy your sister.’ 

Jon snorted as he tore a piece of bread off the heel on his plate. ‘I doubt anything will satisfy my sister.’ 

‘Did something else happen between you two?’ She asked him. He tensed for a moment, staring off into the distance, then he shook his head. ‘Was it your dream.’ She asked quietly. Jon’s head snapped around to her. So it was. ‘As you said, we have no idea if it means anything, you can’t hold it against her.’ Though in truth she hardly felt the same way about whoever had killed her in this vision. Perhaps it had been Sansa, perhaps she had struck the Killing blow and Jon was protecting his sister. She forced herself to push that thought away, ignore the dangerous sense of paranoia that gnawed at the edges of her mind. Had it always been this way? Or had that too come with this ill-fated land?

‘It’s not so easy. I think I’ve turned a blind eye to certain things in an attempt to keep peace in the family. Now I’m not sure that was wise.’ He seemed pained by the circumstances but she also noticed something hard and resolute in his dark grey eyes. Something about him had shifted, perhaps it was learning the truth of his heritage. She wondered if he would wake one day and realize that he did indeed want the throne. She felt guilty for it; she knew he wasn’t interested in power but she couldn’t stop the doubtful little voice in the back of her mind. She closed her eyes and covered them with her hands, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to stop the slight tremor she felt in her body, she could not give in to the paranoia, she would not be her father’s daughter. 

Again, she found herself being called back by Jon, he sounded more concerned than he had been yesterday on the ramparts. ‘Daenerys, are you alright?’ He kept his voice low, not eager to have his bannerman hear him address her by name. Like the day before she assured him, she was fine and just like then he seemed unconvinced. ‘We don’t have to have a meeting today.’ He reasoned. ‘Take the day to yourself; rest.’ 

He was being so understanding, so compassionate. She didn’t know what to do with either emotion. ‘No’ She replied. ‘We will have a meeting, now, as soon as everyone can be gathered. Then I will agree to take a few hours to myself.’ 

He watched her for a moment longer, again with that searching expression but he nodded his consent.

‘I’m sorry, what?’ It was Arya who broke the silence, her lack of courtly manners a boon in a room full of stiff-backed Lords. 

‘The Queen and I have agreed to marry.’ Jon reiterated though he had no doubt she’d heard just fine the first time. 

They had gathered in his solar after the morning meal, a mismatched group of former slaves, old smugglers and Westerosi nobility. Next to Arya, Sansa’s face remained as aloof as ever but her clear blue eyes spoke volumes; she was furious. 

‘Well I for one am glad to hear it.’ Davos announced, a proud fatherly grin on his weathered face.

‘As am I.’ Varys’ voice sent a shiver down Jon’s spin but he did his best to repress it, he would never be able to trust the man though that was perhaps for the best. ‘Long may you both reign.’ He said with a slight bow of his smooth head. 

‘Will the ceremony take place here in Winterfell Your Grace?’ Missandei asked, like Daenerys she kept her face carefully neutral but there was something like joy in her voice. 

Next to him Daenerys nodded. ‘I think that would be for the best. I was not raised in any religion but Jon holds with the Old Gods, we can marry here in the Godswood before we head south.’ She turned to Sansa. ‘I understand that Northern ceremonies are simple affairs, given that winter is upon us and we have taxed your hospitality enough already we will keep to tradition. An evening service followed by the usual meal.’

Sansa opened her mouth to reply then closed it and tried again, Jon couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the proper Lady so flustered. ‘Of course, Your Grace.’ She finally managed, her voice as even and clear as ever, no hint of her inner turmoil leaking through. Then, to Jon’s surprise she creaked just a little. ‘traditionally the grooms father conducts the ceremony, I suppose Bran could – ‘

‘No.’ The Raven’s voice rose from his spot near the window, he had made no attempt to involve himself in the conversation until now for which Jon had been grateful. He was grateful again for the refusal, he couldn’t let this – thing conduct the ceremony.

‘Bran –‘ Sansa started.

‘I am not a Lord; I am not what I once was. It is not my place.’ 

Sansa looked at him desperately though it did no good, emotional appeals did not work with The Three Eyed Raven. Eventually she turned her attention back to Jon. ‘I can’t do it.’ She told him, her voice hard and suddenly devoid of emotion entirely. She gave him a hard look, as if willing him to understand. And all at once he did. As angry as he was with her, he understood that this was not about him. 

He nodded to her to let her know he understood, next to him Daenerys watched the exchange silently; he would have to explain later though he imagined she would sympathize. He looked to his youngest sister. ‘Arya.’ 

Arya looked back at him like he’d caught her by surprise, something he didn’t think was possible anymore. She looked back and forth between him and Daenerys for a moment before she nodded her head. 

Daenerys gave her a smile. ‘Thank you, Lady Arya.’

Arya grimaced. ‘I’m not a Lady Your Grace.’ 

‘My apologies.’ Daenerys said with a nod.

‘You will have to remarry when you take the throne.’ This from Tyrion. ‘The south is firmly rooted in the Faith of the Seven. They will expect their rulers to adhere to their beliefs.’

‘Of course, My Lord.’ Jon acquiesced. 

‘We will have to decide what your role will be. The Kingdoms have never had a King Consort before. You will also have to decide how the North will be run in your absence.’

‘There will be time to sort all of that out.’ Daenerys cut across, effectively ending Tyrion’s subtle objections. 

‘Perhaps Lord Tyrion and I can hash things out Your Grace.’ Davos suggested. ‘That is what you have us for.’

Daenerys smiled at him and nodded her head. Jon felt a great affection for the old man in that moment, he had always been a great support to him, right up until the end. As quickly as the feeling came it fled; Davos had been appointed to The Raven’s small council as Master of Ships, a position he was more than qualified for and one that Jon could hardly begrudge him but like Sam he had not come to see him off, too busy with his new station, too much under The Raven’s control. In the end Jon had been cast aside by everyone save for Tormund and his people and while the Free folk had been a blessing, he couldn’t begin to put into words how much pain the others had caused even if he felt he deserved it. 

The meeting was adjourned shortly thereafter and as Jon himself turned to go he found his way blocked by Arya. ‘We need to talk.’ She informed him, Sansa joining on his other side and The Raven watching him blankly. Inwardly he groaned, _this again_, but the timing was different than he remembered.

‘So, talk.’ Jon told her. 

‘Not here.’ Sansa snapped.

‘The godswood.’ Arya suggested just as he knew she would. 

So, after much maneuvering of the wheeled chair Jon found himself facing the remaining Starks in front of the Weirwood tree.

‘You can’t be serious about marrying her.’ Sansa stated with an air of incredulousness.

‘Sansa.’ Arya hissed next to her.

Jon instantly felt his defenses rise. ‘Of course, I’m serious.’

‘She wants the North.’

‘She already has the North; I bent the knee. I’m sure you haven’t’ forgotten.’

Sansa scoffed again, rolling her eyes at him in frustration. ‘Men.’ She muttered.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘You! Robb! Do you know what they used to say about Robb? The Young Wolf; he won his Kingdom on the Battlefield and lost it in the bed chamber. They will say the same about you!’ 

‘You think I care what people say about me? I’ve spent my whole life being insulted and ridiculed for my birth, what is one more thing? If they are alive to say it then I did what I set out to do.’

‘The North will not kneel!’

‘They knelt to me once, they can do it again!’

‘You won’t rule them, she will and they will not accept a southern ruler!’

‘No, I’m sure they won’t, you will see to that.’

‘What are you – ‘

‘STOP!!’ Arya yelled, stepping between the two of them and holding her arms out wide. ‘This is getting us nowhere. Bran? Do you have anything you’d like to say?’

The Raven watched him with his emotionless eyes as Jon fought to gain control of his temper and suddenly, for a fraction of a second, he felt it; a nudge at the edges of his mind. The Raven watched him more intently, Jon felt a raw wave of anger course through him, he couldn’t contain it completely so he let himself be angry, let them think it was entirely Sansa and her arguments.

‘Are you sure this is what you want Jon?’ the thing wearing Bran’s face asked, his words weighted and Jon knew he was referring to his relation to Dany, he had never been more sure that The Raven had arranged the revelation of his parentage to drive the two of them apart. Right now, he was trying to redirect the river. 

‘I am very sure.’ He replied.

Arya dropped her stance but she remained alert, apparently anticipating more hostility. ‘When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.’ She recited, the words of Ned Stark hanging thick and heavy in the frosty air.

Jon shook his head and sighed. ‘Well I guess we’re all in trouble. I see no pack here.’ And with that he turned and walked away. 

When he got to the main courtyard he was greeted with a sight that lifted his heart; Ghost had returned. Like last time the wolf had taken days to return, likely hold up somewhere licking his wounds of which he had many. Jon had connected with him mentally to ensure that he was safe but other than that he had left him alone knowing he wasn’t in serious danger and would return when he was ready. 

Like last time he had lost one of his ears and Jon mourned the maiming of his dear companion was more. He also had several deep gashes on his legs and his beautiful white coat was singed and grey in places, Jon knew the cuts would leave scars where no fur would grow but he would heal. 

He knelt down and greeted his old friend, running a hand through his soft fur. ‘Come now boy, we’ll find something to clean those wounds and get you some food.’ Ghost tilted his head in answer and brushed up against Jon’s still outstretched hand. Together the two made it to Jon’s chambers, and Ghost took up his usual spot on the furs in front of the hearth. 

As he cleaned what remained of Ghost’s ear he tried to rein in his temper, focusing on the task until he felt in control again. As a boy Jon had always struggled with his temper, often a great deal more angry than he let on, he had learned early to hide the worst of it. A bastard had no business being angry, certainly not a highborn bastard such as him who had the privilege of growing up under his Lord Father’s roof. But he had been angry none the less; angry as a boy in Winterfell, angry as a young man on the wall. He wondered where that rage had gone, it wasn’t something he had thought on before but looking back he realized that at some point it had slipped away. Was it when Ygritte died? Or when he saw the Night King for the first time? 

Even after Kings Landing, he hadn’t been angry, not really. Disgusted with himself, confused about why she had done it, all of those things he had been, but angry? No, he hadn’t been angry, even when he had gone to her and asked her _why _he hadn’t been nearly as angry as he should have been. Was it the Raven? Had he subdued Jon’s rage? There was a part of him that would have considered thanking him for that; his temper had been a demon he had been struggling with all his life. But it was another violation, and now that his influence was gone from Jon’s mind, he found himself wrestling with that rage more than he ever had.

‘Jon.’ Sansa’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, his hand going for the dagger on the table before he registered who it was. Sansa must have noticed the motion for she drew a sharp breath. Silently cursing himself he withdrew his hand and turned to face her. ‘I’m sorry to have startled you.’ She apologized.

‘You should really knock.’ He reprimanded but it sounded like an older brother more than it did a Lord.

Sansa blushed slightly, looking back at the door for a moment. ‘If we are standing on formalities then I shouldn’t be here at all. It’s not entirely proper.’

It took Jon a moment to realize what she was implying. He stood there with his mouth agape, looking like an idiot until he could form words again. ‘That’s not – We would never – that’s not even - ‘

Sansa sighed. ‘There you go again thinking about how things are as opposed to how they are perceived to be.’ She sat herself down at the table, nails nervously scrapping over the grain of the wood. ‘One of those things matters a great deal more than the other and it’s not the one you want to believe it is.’

Jon practically growled in frustration at her. ‘What would you have me do Sansa? I gave my word that we would support her claim.’

‘And?’ She asked in all seriousness.

‘_And?_ You would have me break my word? How will that be perceived?’

‘To the Northerners? As the right move. To the rest of Westeros? Why should we care? We will declare independence.’ 

_She wore a crown of wolves _

‘And if, if Daenerys doesn’t wage war against us with her dragons what then?’ He clinched his fists, shoulders stiff, muscles tensed. He felt ready for a fight but he had never been equipped to fight on Sansa’s battlefield.

‘then?’ She furrowed her brow. ‘Then we live; free and in control of our own lives.’

‘Until the food runs out. Until we have to beg the south for aid to make it through the winter. Then we will be free and dead.’ He pleaded with her to see reason, to understand.

‘Essos – ‘

‘Essos? Where Daenerys freed slaves by the thousands, where the red priests sing her praises?’

Sansa shook her head as if clearing her thoughts. ‘The North survived on its own before the conquest.’ She pointed out.

Jon shook his head. ‘Barely.’ He sat down opposite her, some of his rage draining away replaced by a wariness he felt in his bones. ‘I know you think she seduced me for the North. If that were true why would she bother marrying me? Can you not say that this arrangement will appease the Northern Lords?’

‘An independent North – ‘

‘Sansa.’

With a strangled sound she leapt from her seat and paced the room, arms folded over her chest.

‘Will the Northern Lords be appeased to have me rule beside her grace.? To have Stark blood sit on the throne in a generation?’ No need to bring up Daenerys’ doubts about her fertility.

Sansa stopped pacing and stared off into the distance.

‘Sansa.’ He prompted again.

Finally, she turned, firelight catching the red of her hair. ‘I imagine it will.’ She agreed grimly.

‘But not you?’

‘No.’ 

Jon bowed his head for a moment and then nodded. ‘At least you’re honest about it.’ He muttered. 

After a few more awkward moments as Sansa stood watching him, she spoke in a much quieter voice. ‘Did you mean what you said earlier? About us not being a pack?’ 

Jon sighed, stood and walked across the room to the door, holding it open for her. Thankfully she took the not so subtle hint and made her way over. ‘You want independence, not for the North; for you. Arya doesn’t think she needs anyone at all and Bran…I’m not sure what Bran is anymore but I don’t think he’s a wolf. As for me; I’m not a Stark, I never have been.’

She watched him for a moment with her Tully blue eyes before she gave him a sad nod and left his room, leaving him alone with his direwolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: The crown issue bothers me, Sansa deliberately mocks Jon in season 7, asking him if he’s going to start wearing a crown, then our final shot of her is her own crowning. Kinda like Bran telling Tyrion (and maybe Littlefinger) that he can’t be Lord of Winterfell, he can’t be Lord of anything anymore and then behold! Lord of the Six kingdoms!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I want to apologize for the delay between chapters 3 and 4 and also for not looking at the reviews until recently. My anxiety got the better of me and I was too nervous to post of go through the comments. As it turns out they are wonderful and I thank everyone for their support. At the moment I have nearly 100 pages written of this (midway through chapter 7) and they still haven’t managed to leave Winterfell yet. I do have this plotted out and I know where I’m going. It’s going to be a long road.

Chapter Five

Smoke still hung heavy in the air after the funeral pyres had been lit when Sam approached him with a bucket of foul-smelling sludge and told him not to ask. ‘I followed the instructions, it’s supposed to form a sort of seal with the Dragon’s heat but please don’t ask me what’s in it.’ Jon had uttered his thanks, grateful for something to do that took him away from Winterfell and the smell of roasting bodies. 

The fire had been hard enough to look upon, the smell had been so bad he had found himself in the rubble of Kings Landing, the screams of women and children filling his ears. He had nearly lost the contents of his stomach right there and it was only Davos insisting that it was the blow to the head and that he needed to rest that had saved him the embarrassment. He was ashamed to admit that he hadn’t been able to look in Dany’s direction as he had retreated back to the castle. He had reminded himself that what had happened had been the work of The Raven but he was unsure in that moment if his heart believed it. 

Sam had shown up when he had likely decided Jon had had enough time to rest, he had handed him the bucket with his instructions and turned to leave. 

‘Sam?’

‘huh?’ Sam turned back to look at him.

‘Are we alright?’ 

‘What? – Oh! Yes, yes of course we are.’ Sam assured him in his usual clumsy way. 

Jon stepped aside and gestured for Sam to follow him into his chamber, Sam gave him a lopsided smile as he passed by but it didn’t look quite the same as it used to. ‘I wanted to talk with you privately, before tomorrow’s feast.’ He told his old friend after he closed the door and took up his spot by the hearth.

‘Oh?’

Jon sighed, rubbing the uninjured side of his head. He felt tired and wary today, the toll of wars and years beyond the ones he had truly lived were weighing him down. Dream? Vision? Prophecy? Or had it all really happened?

‘Is it your head again? Would you like me to send for the maester?’ Sam asked, mistaking Jon’s inner turmoil for the headaches he’d been suffering from. 

‘No, no. It’s not that. It’s just…There’s no easy way for me to say this to you.’

‘Well, just say it.’ Sam told him. ‘Whatever it is it can’t be that bad. Unless you’re going to tell me there’s another army of the dead heading our way. Not sure I could handle that.’ He said with a chuckle. 

Still Jon couldn’t find the courage to say it just yet. He had never been one to shy away from harsh truths, his life had been formed by them after all. But that didn’t mean he wanted to do this to his friend. 

_He did it to you, _A voice in the back of his mind whispered, he tried to ignore it. ‘Tomorrow at the feast, Daenerys and I intend to announce our betrothal.’ He forced himself to look over at Sam. His friend stood staring at him, his mouth agape and his fists clenched at his sides. 

‘You plan to marry her? You do remember what I told you don’t you?’ He asked incredulously, Jon was sure this wasn’t his main complaint but it was one he would have to get used to hearing.

‘About Highgarden? Yes Sam, I remember it perfectly fine. I’m not going to defend her to you. I know what she did was terrible, it was also war and war is very often terrible.’

‘She executed my father and brother.’ Sam’s voice shook, much as it had in the crypts that night.

‘Both of whom had committed treason against their liege lord, both of whom were offered pardons if they knelt.’ Jon said softly not wanting to hurt Sam any further. 

‘Jon…I – I honestly don’t know what I’m supposed to say.’ He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, fists still clinched at his side. ‘You will be King.’ He finally said. ‘I suppose that’s something.’

‘It’s better than war isn’t it? My birthright, it could tear the Kingdoms apart. It’s safer this way. And I do love her.’ He implored Sam to understand, to not hate him for his decision. Eventually Sam nodded, as if resigning himself to it. It was, perhaps, the best Jon could hope for but it still left him feeling cold and empty inside. Nothing would ever be the same between the two of them. Sam excused himself rather awkwardly leaving Jon to stare at the flickering light of the flames. 

Sam had been more a brother to Jon than anyone else ever had, even Robb in some ways. They had built a friendship based on the despair they both felt as outcasts, status on the wall meant nothing and Sam had never once held his noble birth over Jon’s head as Robb was wont to do occasionally. Sam was the only friend he had left from those first hard days after he left home. To lose him now after everything they had been through stung badly. But he had lost him before. At least he thought he had, he reached for the thin threads of those memories but at the moment they slipped through his fingers. Vague images and a profound sense of loss were all that remained to him at the moment where he knew that only hours before he had been overwhelmed with it. Frustrated he pushed himself off the mantel he’d been leaning against and grabbed the bucket Sam had left. Trying to drag that other world from whatever void it had fallen into was pointless so he might as well do something useful. 

He had planned to ask Daenerys before he ventured out to see Rhaegal. His relationship with the Dragons was tenuous at best and he did not want to give the impression that he was encroaching on her territory. However, when he inquired as to her whereabouts, he was informed that she was currently up with her children and so he made the journey alone. 

Rhaegal sensed him first, lifting his massive snout from the ground to stare at Jon with interest. Daenerys turned to see what her son was looking at, giving him a warm smile when she laid eyes on him. She returned her attention to Drogon before she spoke. ‘I should have asked you if you wanted to accompany me but after the funeral, I just needed some time alone.’ She ran her hand over the rough scales of the black beast and he puffed out a jet of smoke.

‘It’s quite alright Your Grace.’ He assured her. ‘They are your dragons.’

She turned back to watch him as he entered the field of bones around her children. ‘You are Rhaegal’s rider, that is not a connection to be taken lightly.’ She glanced at the bucket he held in his hand. ‘What is that?’

Jon glanced down at it. ‘A salve. I had Sam do some research for me. This was used by the Targaryens before the Dance to aid in healing the dragons.’ It was strange to say the name now, knowing that it was his as much as it was hers.

Daenerys’ curiosity perked up. She left Drogon and came over to stand in front of him. ‘Oh? What is in it?’ She asked.

Jon grimaced. ‘Nothing pleasant. You would have to take it up with a Maester, Sam told me not to ask.’

She stilled, a hardened look in her eyes. ‘And you trust him? He doesn’t exactly care for me.’ 

‘With this? Yes, Sam may be angry but he’s not like that, he would never purposely harm the dragons or you for that matter.’ Not directly, not physically.

She would have argued further Jon was sure, but Rhaegal edged closer, sniffing at the bucket, his nostrils flaring as he took in the scent. Then he let out a whine and laid down exposing the wound on his neck in what was clearly an invitation. Smart, gorgeous beasts Jon thought. With another look at the bucket and it’s contains Daenerys relented. 

Jon Removed his gloves and set the bucket down near Rhaegal, dipping his hands into the now cold substance he swore under his breath. Gingerly he applied a handful to the first wound he came across, it sizzled and smoked but as Sam had said it seemed to form some sort of seal. The Dragon purred in appreciation. Jon continued applying it to his various injuries while Daenerys watched near Drogon, she didn’t seem wary anymore but she did seem oddly entranced. When he was finished, he ran his hand over the jade green scales, relishing the warmth they provided. On instinct he reached out with his mind as he often did with Ghost, not attempting to slip into the Dragon’s skin, though he would be lying if he said the thought wasn’t both tempting and terrifying, but just to touch his essence. He felt the rumble of a response beneath his hands before he heard it, a contented noise, something brushed back against his mind, something familiar and yet wholly foreign, it was a surprisingly gently nudge as though the dragon understood the relative fragility of his rider. 

Behind him Dany let out a yelp and he turned in time to see Drogon push her toward the bucket, nearly knocking her off her feet. She turned to scold him and he angled his long black neck, clearly showing one of his own wounds. Jon chuckled. Smart indeed. 

‘Fine.’ Daenerys grumbled pulling off her fine red gloves. She grabbed the bucket and set to work, hissing when she slipped her hand into the muck. 

Finished with Rhaegal Jon washed his hands in the river behind them, flexing his fingers against the cold. Rhaegal rolled himself back into to usual position and huffed out warm steam against his hands, warming him instantly. ‘Thank you boy.’ He replied, rubbing his snout. It was still incredibly strange; this unexpected bond he was forming with the dragon. To think that this massive creature of lore cared about him in some way was simply astounding. 

Without warning he felt an otherworldly pain sear through him, he gasped before he could stop himself. Pain, grief; it tore through him like an enemy blade, followed by a glimpse of trees, southern trees. As quickly as it came it disappeared. Jon sucked in air and stood back up straight, not aware of when he had doubled over. Daenerys stood next to him, her hands on his arm and a look of concern on her face.

‘What happened?’ She asked. ‘Did Rhaegal…’

‘No. No, Rhaegal did nothing. It’s the headaches.’ He lied for he knew now what it had been; the memory of Rhaegal’s death. It wasn’t totally a lie however, his head throbbed now and the world blurred at the edges.

‘We should get you back to the castle.’ She said, concern still evident in her voice. 

‘Give me a minute. I might be alright; I just need to breathe.’ He ambled over to a nearby rock and sat down, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Maybe he was losing his mind. He held his head in his hands until the pain started to recede. He was aware of Daenerys standing close by watching him with concern, he felt warmed by it much as the dragon breath had warmed him. She loved fiercely, as she did most things, perhaps it was the blood of the dragon. Did he love like that? Did she feel warm in his presence? Or was he cold and distant? Ned Stark had been, for as much as Jon had loved him, loved him still, he had not been a particularly affectionate father, at least not to Jon. He feared then that perhaps he would not be able to love her as well as she needed. 

He heard her move closer, felt her hand on his shoulder, small and delicate but surprisingly strong; like her. He raised his head to look at her, her beautiful lilac eyes were soft and gentle and full of worry. He gave her a smile and took her other hand in one of his, giving it a squeeze. ‘I’m fine.’ He told her. ‘The pain is already starting to go.’

She returned his smile as he stood back up. ‘We should still head back; if you were to pass out here I can’t guarantee Drogon won’t use you as a toy.’ Jon looked back at the dragons then, Rhaegel’s expression was one of fondness but Drogon was eyeing him as he had at the waterfall. It wasn’t hostility, per say; more a protectiveness toward his rider. _Why did he let me live?_ The question came out of nowhere and vanished just as quickly. Jon let it slip away; he’d had enough of that other life for one day, he wanted to concentrate on the present. 

‘In that case I’ll go first and you cover my back.’ He suggested, only half joking.

‘My chivalrous knight.’ She smirked at him.

‘Knights are a southron thing.’ He informed her in all seriousness.

She frowned as they turned back toward the castle and walked away from the dragons, still hand in hand. ‘Ser Jorah was a knight.’ 

‘Knighted by King Robert after the siege of Pike. I was also trained by a knight, here in Winterfell. But on the whole the North does not hold with it. Knighthood is rooted in the faith of the seven.’

Dany sighed. ‘There is so much to learn. In Essos I had the benefit of having been raised there. Here I feel as if I am a fish out of water. I never received a formal education and Viserys had a highly limited and bias view of the kingdoms.’

Jon glanced at her empathically. ‘There is time to learn, find a maester you can trust, have him educate you in the evenings. We’ll find you a septa, she can teach you to sew and curtsy like a lady.’ He told her with a grin.

She huffed at him but a smile tugged the corners of her lips. ‘Are you saying I am not lady like?’

Jon pretended to think it over for a moment. ‘Lady like? Yes, certainly. But an actually Lady? I’m certainly no expert on the habits and past times of highborn ladies but I don’t think Dragon riding is one of them.’ He gave her a wicked grin. ‘Nor that thing you do with your mouth.’

Daenerys blushed but only slightly. She was far more open about such things than he was, a consequence of life in Essos she had informed him, particularly with the Dothraki. ‘You are hardly one to talk? What about what you do with yours?’ 

Now it was his turn to blush and he imagined he turned a great deal redder than she did. ‘I am not a Lord; I am simply a bastard; we are born of lust and other low desires.’ He had heard it all a million times before. The thoughts had burned him for as long as he could remember but not today. Bolstered by his interaction with Rhaegal he merely grinned, letting her know he wasn’t serious. 

Still she stopped short, gripping his arm tightly. He stopped to look at her, questioning. 

‘You’re not.’ She stated. ‘A bastard? You’re not. You are a prince of the realm.’ 

‘A truth I must never share. For both our sakes.’

Dany frowned mulling something over in her mind. ‘Even if it is only between us, it is still a truth. I’ll admit I reacted badly, I’ll admit I don’t know how to feel about it. But even if it’s only ever us who know, you can still let the burden go. You don’t have to carry it around on your shoulders anymore. 

‘I think I will carry it with me regardless, it has become too much a part of who I am.’ He told her honestly.’ He wanted to have a larger conversation about it, about what it meant to him though he scarcely knew. But it felt too overwhelming and his thoughts on the matter were still muddled. He rarely ever spoke his thoughts out loud; he had learned early to keep such things to himself lest he appear ungrateful or give others weapons to use against him. He had known few people in his life that he had felt safe enough with to open up to. But with Dany he wanted to try. It seemed only days ago that they had been safe on that boat and they had spoken of everything and anything, he had given her pieces of himself he had never revealed to anyone. And then Sam had told him the truth and a wall had sprung up between them in an instant. He wanted to tear it down, more than he had ever wanted anything he wanted to find comfort in her as he had before.

‘What is it?’ Daenerys asked watching him.

‘You say you didn’t react well. I didn’t either. I fear I am still not.’ They had reached the edges of the Dothraki camp now, much smaller than it had been only days before. The blood riders gave them a wide berth, though they nodded to Dany with clear respect. Her Unsullied guards, who had been waiting for her near the edges took up formation around her, though they gave them enough distance to pass as privacy. ‘All my life I wanted to know where I came from, now I know.’ He said it quietly, though he didn’t anyone in the vicinity could speak the common tongue. ‘And I wish I didn’t.’

Dany moved in closer to him, placing a calming hand on his bicep. ‘Do you?’ She asked. ‘I understand that it was far from the answer you had thought to receive, but would it truly be better to never know the truth?’

‘I fear the damage it could do. For that reason alone, I wish I had never learned of it.’ He told her.

‘We will handle it together.’ She said, her voice strong and resolute. ‘We are the last of our kind, we are stronger together.’

‘A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing.’ Jon quoted, thinking of Maester Aemon; the dear old man who would have been his grand uncle several times over. What he would have given to have been able to tell him who he was. He could have died with family, as he wanted. 

Next to him Dany gave him an odd look. ‘Where did that come from?’ She asked.

‘Maester Aemon.’ He had told her all about the ancient old black brother during their journey north. ‘He was referring to you at the time.’

‘Oh.’ She answered in a small voice. Jon gave her a soft smile and a quick kiss on the top of her head as they made their way to the gate of Winterfell, having left the horse people of Essos in their wake. ‘Will you spend the night with me?’ She asked, her voice much more controlled than it had been only moments ago. 

‘If you wish it.’ He replied.

Dany scowled. ‘What of what you want, I told you that I will not condemn…’

‘And I told you I love you.’ He cut in. ‘If you wish for me to stay with you tonight I will. If you wish to spend the night with Missandei doing whatever it is women do then do that.’

Daenerys gave him a smirk. ‘Whatever women do? Why Jon Snow, don’t you wish you knew?’

Jon groaned, fighting the blood that rushed to his groin at her suggestive tone. He was glad though, she had suffered a great loss with the death of Ser Jorah and the depletion of her armies, he wanted to see her happy.

The Great Hall was smoky and loud; the feast had been served and spirits flowed freely, the last of the summer wine; Sansa Stark had informed them to which Tyrion had muttered a prayer of farewell before complaining that it tasted like horse piss. If Lady Stark was offended, she didn’t show it. Personally, Daenerys didn’t care what it tasted like; she had savoured the best wines of Meereen and survived the fermented mare’s milk of the Dothraki and at present she only cared that it stilled her nerves. She had come to a decision late last night as Jon lay sleeping beside her. They had not made love but instead had talked late into the night about pointless things; happier times and childhood dreams while they laid safe in each other’s arms. Once he had drifted off, she had laid there staring at the beams above her bed and the snarling direwolves that graced them. In the quiet still of the northern night she had seen the way forward; she hadn’t liked it at first, had shaken her head to cast such thoughts away but when she had woken this morning, she knew she would do it anyway. 

Perhaps sensing her pensive attitude Jon reached over and gripped one of her hands, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He had no idea what she was planning, nor did Tyrion or the spider. The only one she had spoken to was Missandei and her friend had chosen to send the evening with Grey Worm. The unsullied; though invited to the festivities had declined, it was not in their nature to celebrate Missandei had informed the Northerners, though Daenerys suspected that wasn’t entirely true. She wished her trusted advisor had chosen to join them, but she would not stop her from spending time with her beloved.

‘Do you wish to get it over with?’ Jon asked her quietly. She gave him a startled look for a moment, wondering how he could possibly know before realizing that he was referring to the announcement of their betrothal. 

She quirked her lips at him. ‘Is it so terrible that we must get it over with?’ She asked, just to see the blush climb up his beautiful face. 

‘That’s not what I –‘ he began.

‘Shush. I know.’ She took another sip of her bitter wine. ‘I have something I need to address first.’ She informed him.

‘Oh?’ He looked perplexed and perhaps a little nervous. She couldn’t blame him for that, she had the power to make his life a great deal more difficult, she was in fact about to make his life a great deal more difficult, though she doubted he could guess how.

Instead of answering him, she gave him a tense smile and stood from her chair. She raised her cup and banged her fork against it until the people closest to the high table began to demand silence from those in the back. She cleared her throat and gave Jon one last pained look. 

‘Many of you fear me, you fought against my father’s armies during the rebellion or you grew up hearing the stories of what the Mad King was capable of. I cannot right the wrongs of the past, I cannot change the things my family has done. 

‘When I came to this land I did so to take back what my family had lost. But when your King came to me and asked for my help, I turned North instead, not to conquer but to help. Your King knelt to me because he believed I was the Ruler the Seven Kingdoms needed.’ She took a deep breath; it was now or never. ‘Now I must return the Northern Crown to him because he is the King the North Choose.’

Mutterings and gasps rose like waves across the Great Hall, next to her Jon rose to his feet, staring at her like she’d grown a second head. ‘Daenerys.’ He whispered, too quietly for anyone else to hear.

‘I didn’t understand before; I was blinded by what I thought was my right. But now I see.’ She told him quietly. She reached out a hand and she was glad when he took it. ‘ The North knows no King but the King in the North whose name is Stark.’ She told him. ‘He will remain your King.’ She said addressing the crowd once more. ‘And he will be my King as well.’ Now the noise rose to a crescendo.

Jon was watching her carefully. His dark grey eyes wide with some emotion she couldn’t place, still he took his cue well enough. Gripping her hand tighter he looked out at the assembled Lords. ‘The Queen and I will wed, here in Winterfell in the tradition of the North, before we travel south. The Realm will be united, but let it not be said that the North has ever been conquered.’

Something had changed. The Three Eyed Raven watched from the far end of the high table as Daenerys and Aegon Targaryen announced their impending marriage to the cheers of those in attendance and felt a deep sense of foreboding grip him. Plans were never guaranteed, no strategy survived contact with the enemy; this he knew. But divergence of this magnitude was rare. 

He had laid the seeds of his plans many centuries in the past. He had waited patiently for all the paths to converge; for the right souls to be born, for dragons to return, for the Watch to weaken, the Night King to rise. If he was one thing, it was patient. But now? Now on the eve of victory something had changed and he liked it not.

He had been so careful, weaving the threads of Jon Snow’s life, making sure that he would choose honour over love, that he would choose the Starks, whose approval he so desperately wanted, over the last remaining Targaryen. It hadn’t been a small task; not a laborious one to be sure, not for a being such as he, but it had taken much time and required constant intervention. 

The trickiest part of the whole scheme had been Jon’s death and resurrection. It had been necessary; to ensure that he would not remain on the wall but it had also made him far less likely to trust those around him, including his overly ambitious cousin. It had required no small amount of manipulation on his part to make Jon turn the other cheek, to suppress the blood of both the dragon and the wolf. He’d been clamping down on those instincts so long he had thought the dragon’s wings had been clipped, the wolf gelded. Not that it mattered, he didn’t need Jon’s rage, he just needed him to stay alive long enough to fulfil the next part of the plan. 

Now though something was different. He continued to subvert Jon’s natural tendencies just as he continued to sow seeds of doubt and mistrust in the little Lion, just as he edged Daenerys towards paranoia. And yet he couldn’t be sure that his ministrations with Jon were working. 

It was something he would have to think on. Just as he would have to study the ripples that this new development had undoubtably caused in the timeline. If he hoped for his plans to succeed in a timely fashion, he would have to make adjustments, and quickly. 

‘Do you need anything milord?’ A serving wench asked as she appeared before him with a jug of ale. The Raven forced himself to focus long enough to shoo her off. It was infuriating, being stuck in a human body, and a crippled one at that. The crippling of Bran Stark had been necessary for several reasons but it was an inconvenience he would rather do without, even stuck in the roots of the weirwood trees he had had more freedom than this. 

‘Send for Maester Wolkan.’ He ordered the girl. ‘I wish to retire to the Godswood for a time.’

‘Of course, milord.’ She said with a curtsy. 

‘Leaving us so soon Bran?’ The voice of Sansa Stark rang up beside him. She was composed as usual, nearly as emotionless on the surface as he was. It was an act of course; beneath her carefully constructed armor she was a violent torrent of fear and anger. It made her easy to manipulate, it also meant he rarely had to. 

‘Such gatherings do not interest me.’ He told her. Not when he could have seen it just as clearly from anywhere at all.

‘Not even when our big brother has just won himself the greatest prize in the Seven Kingdoms?’ She asked snidely. 

‘It matters not to me who sits on the Iron Throne.’ 

Sansa groaned. ‘Does the North matter to you?’ She asked, venom in her words. 

‘No. Good Night Sansa.’ He told her as the Maester arrived to wheel him out of the hall. He could feel her piercing gaze on him all the way out. 

‘I saw him ride that thing!’

‘Yes, we all did.’

‘No, no. I SAW him!’ Tormund gestured wildly to the other Free Folk while Davos rolled his eyes. Tormund, Jon was sure, had been drunk two horns of wine ago and had not slowed down at all. ‘Who would ride a dragon? A mad man! Or a King!’ He yelled. 

Jon pulled Daenerys closer to him, giving her a warm smile. 

‘And here!’ His friend continued pointing at Dany, wine spilling from his horn again. ‘The Dragon Queen! A warrior woman with a mighty stead! There will be songs sung in your honour North of the wall for Centuries to come!’ The other Free Folk yelled their agreement. ‘You’ve stolen a fine woman little crow!’ 

‘I’ve stolen no one Tormund.’ Jon told him with a slight warning in his voice. The Breaker of Chains would probably not appreciate the Free Folk tradition much but Tormund was far too drunk to care.

‘To the Mother of Dragons!’ He yelled, raising his horn in cheers. Around the hall others joined in, much more enthusiastically than Jon expected them to. 

Daenerys reached for her own cup, raising hers as well. ‘To Arya Stark! The Hero of Winterfell!’ More raised cups, more cheers. Jon met her eyes and smiled at her, she seemed more relaxed than she had all evening, next to her Tormund encouraged her to drink with him while he told one of his wildly exaggerated stories. 

‘Where is our sister?’ Sansa asked from his right, she was still seated, taking in the festivities but not overly interested in joining them it seemed. 

Jon sighed. ‘She escaped as soon as she could. I don’t think she’s interested in the fanfare.’

‘No, she wouldn’t be.’ Sansa agreed. ‘And you? Are you pleased?’

‘That we defeated the Night King?’ 

Sansa scowled at him. ‘Don’t be ornery. Are you pleased your lover returned your title?’

Jon felt himself tense. ‘I never wanted a crown.’ He told her, the words rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. But even as he said them, he wondered if they were true. Had he not once wished to be a lord? A king? Had he not idolized Daeron the Young Dragon? He suddenly felt cold in the warm hall.

‘No’ Sansa agreed oblivious to his internal ponderings. ‘But people keep handing them to you anyway.’ She sighed, standing from her seat. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I see some people I’d like to greet.’ 

Jon nodded, letting her go. He turned back to see Daenerys red faced and laughing at Tormund while he refilled her cup from his horn. ‘You will have to try sour goat’s milk one day, not this piss the southerners drink.’ He told her.

‘Umm, I’ve had sour mare’s milk. I imagine it tastes much the same.’ 

‘And who drinks this mare’s milk?’ Tormund asked with intense interest. 

Daenerys waved her hand and Jon realized she was drunk as well, something he had never thought to see. ‘The Dothraki.’ She told him quite cheerfully. ‘It’s thick like clotted cream and smells foul.’

‘Aye.’ Tormund agreed, nodding his head. ‘That sounds right. Say, do these horse Lords have any of this milk? Humm? We ran out of the good stuff ages ago.’

Daenerys put a hand on the wildings arm. ‘We could go ask.’ She suggested.

Jon stood from his perch on the edge of the table and gently pulled her back to him. ‘I think you should stay.’ He told her, not that he didn’t trust Tormund but some of the wildings were a different story and the Northman. He had a sudden flash of putting his sword through one of his men, a woman crying on the ground. He closed his eyes for moment and the scene disappeared. 

‘He’s just worried I’ll steal you for me self!’ Tormund told her. 

Daenerys gave him a bright smile and gripped his arm, she seemed slightly unsteady as she leaned into him and away from Tormund. ‘I don’t think he has to worry.’ She told the wilding. 

‘I’ve been looking for you.’

Arya sighed as she retrieved her knives from the post, she’d thrown them at, she wasn’t surprised when she heard his voice. The stupid bull was never quiet. ‘I’ve been out here.’ She told him.

‘They’re raising toasts in your honour.’ He informed her. 

‘Which is why I’m out here.’ She took her position again and let the first knife fly. Gendry watched its course through the air.

‘I – ah.’ Gendry rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he’d had since they were children. ‘I was hoping you’d be at the feast.’ He told her.

‘Why?’ She let another knife fly. ‘Looking for another roll in the hay?’

“what!!? No!’ Now he was turning red, she smirked. She did like to watch him blush. ‘I thought maybe we could have a drink together, really catch up.’

Arya raised an eyebrow at him. 

Gendry swear under his breath; he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. ‘I thought we could talk, and then…well, yeah, maybe another.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Not a roll in the hay. But if you were interested then maybe… fuck! No! not fuck like that! Oh damn.’ He dropped his head into his hands and she was torn between feeling bad for him and laughing herself stupid over it. Laughing won out. 

She laughed until she couldn’t breathe, until tears poured down her face and she realized that he was laughing too. She couldn’t remember that last time she had laughed like that.

When she’d calmed down, she fingered the hilt of the last knife she had in her hand, before she turned and threw it at the post as well where it stuck with its friends. ‘Fine.’ She said, turning to the blacksmith. ‘We can have a drink. But I’m not going back in that hall.’

Gendry nodded. ‘Stay here then. I’ll go get us some ale.’ He paused and raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Wine?’ He questioned.

‘Ale.’ She assured him with a grimace. She never could develop a taste for wine.

Gendry nodded and disappeared back toward the Hall, an eager spring in his steps. Truth be told she wouldn’t mind another fuck; it had certainly been enjoyable enough, with an edge of pleasure that had promised it could be exceptional with practice. Fucking was safer than talking anyway; talking could lead to feelings she had long since buried. She had let herself go the other day when she had gone to Jon. She had told him…well not everything, she couldn’t bring herself to explain what happened to House Frey, but she had divulged a great deal more than she’d intended to. But it was Jon. Gendry however was another matter entirely, what he wanted from her was far more dangerous than the rekindling of sibling affection. 

When he returned, he sat down on the sacks of horse feed behind her and held out a mug for her to take. She settled herself next to him and downed some of it, relishing the warmth it provided.

‘You missed the big announcement.’ Gendry informed her.

Arya shook her head. ‘They told me yesterday. I’m officiating.’ She told him, wiggly her eyebrows a little. It was absurd; Jon was marrying a Targaryen and she was going to be the one of oversee it. How the fuck had they all ended up here?

‘Na, not that one. Well I mean that one too but she gave him back the North.’

Ale flew from her mouth as she quickly tried to regain her composure. ‘She what?!’

Gendry shrugged. ‘She told everyone she refused the Northern Crown. Said they’d join the realm by marriage instead.’

That was…unexpected. Arya wondered what Sansa thought of it. She knew her sister wanted an independent North; she also knew what Jon thought of that. Was this enough of a compromise that the two of them might stop trying to bite each other’s heads off? Arya downed a good half of her ale thinking about it.

‘Slow down.’ Gendry laughed. ‘Let me catch up with you.’

Arya shook her head. ‘If you want me, you’re going to have to move faster.’ She told him with a grin. 

Apparently not quite as stupid as she thought he was, he leaned in quickly and kissed her. His lips tasted like ale and smoked meat. His hair still smelled of the forge and brought back memories of their travels so many years ago. He smelled like home. Dangerous, she reminded herself.

‘Arya I…’ He began as he pulled back. But she put a finger to his lips to shush him. Whatever he thought he wanted to say she was sure she didn’t want to hear.

‘Shut up stupid.’ She told him, pulling him closer to her.

The fresh air helped clear her head though she still felt a little unsteady. She leaned against Jon as they took a slow path through one of the many private courtyards that existed within the castle walls. This one had remained undamaged during the battle and a light dusting of snow covered the statues and stone benches, in the center of the garden a pond steamed in the cold winter air. ‘Are you angry with me?’ She asked as she stopped by a bench that sat before the pond, brushing the snow off before sitting down. 

‘Angry?’ He asked, sitting down beside her. He had tied his hair back up and she mourned the captivity of his curls; gods she was drunk. She needed to focus.

‘About the crown? I know you don’t want it.’ 

Jon stared off into the distance for a moment. ‘When I was little, I wanted to be the Lord of Winterfell.’ There was a great shame in his words and she got the impression that it cost him something to say them. ‘Before I knew what it was to be a bastard, that is. Eventually I came to understand that that birthright belonged to Robb. And I felt ashamed to have coveted something that belonged to my brother.’

‘You were only a little boy.’ She told him soothingly.

Jon nodded. ‘Aye, but still, it felt wrong. Even after I understood I would pretend or I would day dream about saving my father from a fire and being named a Stark in return.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘But the older I got the more I grew to understand that I was not meant for such things. Lady Stark never missed an opportunity to remind me of it either, always fearful that I would usurp Robb’s claim to The North. I learned that wanting anything was wrong.’

‘And to want a crown?’ She asked. Did he? Would he change his mind about his own birthright? Would he take the throne from her? She shivered, trying to rein in such thoughts. He had given his word; he had never lied to her before.

‘To want a crown would mean that I am everything Catelyn Stark feared I was.’ He concluded. He watched her carefully for a moment. The light from the nearby torches casting his face in flickering shadows. ‘When the Lords named me King, I accepted it because I knew what was coming and someone had to prepare the people. If the dead hadn’t been coming, I very well may have stepped aside for Sansa.’

Daenerys shook her head, trying to clear the last of the drink. ‘And now?’

‘Now I will accept it because I believe it’s the only way to keep the Kingdoms together.’

‘Will you marry me for the same reason? For the realm?’ 

Jon’s brow furrowed, he reached out and cupped her cheek. ‘I love you Daenerys, I certainly don’t love the crown.’ Dany leaned into his touch, relishing the heat of his skin against hers. Some moments it was easy to believe him, easy to forget the threat he represented. At other times she felt near panicked. Sometimes, when she was alone with no one to distract her from the musings in her own mind she began to worry that perhaps she was mad, that she would be driven to things she could not begin to imagine to quell the fear she felt deep inside. ‘You’re cold.’ He whispered, his hand still on her cheek. 

She smiled at him. ‘That’s all I’ve been since I left Dragonstone.’

Jon gave her a grin; one she knew well. She felt her fears subside and heat blossom low in her belly. 

‘I have an idea.’ He told her, standing up and holding out his hand. 

‘Oh?’ 

‘You’ll just have to trust me.’ He told her; he was still smiling at her. A real genuine smile, the kind he so rarely showed for anyone. He gestured for her to follow and she did. Back out of the courtyard and across the main keep, out across the main courtyard where people were still celebrating with abandon. She could hear singing and laughter in every corner, and other sounds, ones she thought would have made her companion blush but he seemed unphased by it. As they wound their way passed groups of revilers people stopped to call out to them, shouts of Dragon Queen and King in the North could be heard but no one accosted them as they approached the iron gates of the godswood. 

‘I thought your brother had gone out to the godswood?’ She asked as Jon nudged the gates open enough for them to get through. 

‘I saw Maester Wolkan wheeling him back inside as we were leaving. I suppose even the Three Eyed Raven gets cold from time to time.’ There was an odd tone to his words, not the one he usually used for his siblings.

‘Are you upset with your brother?’ She asked. He had been one of the ones to discover Jon’s parentage.

Jon looked back at her as he continued to make his way quite easily through the ancient wood. ‘To be honest I have no idea what a Three Eyed Raven is and the more I interact with him the more certain I am that he is not my brother.’ 

His words brought a chill to her bones and she shivered. ‘Do you think he’s a threat?’ She had to ask. 

Jon seemed to considered her words carefully, stopping to face her beneath one of the torches. ‘Maybe. I’m not sure. I think we should limit our contact with him at the very least.’

Dany nodded, still fighting the chill. 

Jon seemed to shake himself mentally, perking up and squeezing her hands. He almost looked excited, an expression she had not truly seen on his face before, it made him look younger and less wary. ‘I didn’t bring you here to talk about my siblings. Come.’ He led her away from the Heart tree to a secluded area off to the left, as she drew near, she noticed that the ground was no longer snow covered and the air felt warmer. 

Soon Jon came to a halt and she peered around him. Pools of steaming water sat against a moss-covered stone wall. ‘Hot Springs.’ Jon told her. 

Excitedly she reached out a hand and dipped it in the water closest to her. She sighed when the heat hit her. It was pleasantly hot; not quite as hot as she preferred her baths but nevertheless it was an amazing surprise. She stood back up and grinned at him, already pulling at the fastenings of her dress. She wondered if she was more intoxicated then she had thought for she felt like a little girl. In no time at all she had stripped herself bare before him, the air frigid against her skin despite the heat the pools gave off. Jon had yet to remove any of his clothes but he watched her intently, a hungry look in his dark eyes. 

‘Are you going to join me?’ She asked. 

‘Maybe I should stand guard.’ He teased watching her still as she slid into the water. The difference between the cold night air and the heat of the springs was fascinating, the bottom of the pool was smooth stone, the water just covering the peak of her breasts, it was deeper by the wall then it was near the furthest edge where she’d gotten in. 

‘Maybe you should please your queen.’ She suggested, leaning back against the stone wall and raising a toe out of the water to point at him. A part of her wanted to suggest he come please his aunt but she knew he was like to go running in the other direction if she did that. Too much to drink, she chided herself. 

Still she smirked to herself as he began to undress, revealing his perfect body. She bit her lip in anticipation as he joined her in the water. Sliding over to stand in front of her. She reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him in for a kiss, it quickly grew heated, the feel of his body, hard against hers driving her arousal, she reached a hand below the water and took his cock in her hand stroking it, he groaned against her lips. 

Without warning he withdrew but before she could ask why he had spun her around and pressed her back against his body, grinding her bottom against his erection. She sighed as he dipped his head and kissed her neck before nipping it gently. His hands roamed her body; one settling over her left breast, massaging it for a moment before moving to pinch her nipple. The other hand soon found its way to her center, finding that most sensitive spot and teasing it slowly. She threw one arm back, holding his head as he worked his way up to suckle her earlobe. His hands continued their dance across her skin and she gave in to the sensations, biting her lip to stop from moaning too loudly. She was hardly a stranger to public sex but she didn’t imagine the Northerners would appreciate such a display. 

She could feel her arousal building, she was glad that Jon was holding her up for the combination of wine, heat and sex made her feel weak and dizzy. She closed her eyes and let her hand wonder, first to her other breast, rolling the nipple between her fingers as Jon worked the other one, then down below the water to join his other hand. 

He groaned when he felt her there, pressing her harder against him, seeking release for his own tension. She took over rubbing the sensitive bud at the top of her sex while his went lower, he pushed a finger inside her and she felt herself cry out. He grinned against her neck. Their hands worked in tandem, caressing and pumping until she couldn’t take it anymore, a wave of pleasure broke over her like a dam cracking open. She cried out, her hand stilling but he was more merciless, his fingers leaving her to circle that sensitive spot once more, dragging out the sweet agony of orgasm. Her knees gave out beneath her and he held her up against him until she found the strength to stand again. 

Still holding her, he directed her toward the edge of the pool. She wondered briefly if he planned to leave the pool, she would have liked to have stayed in its warmth, but then he gently pushed her to lean forward and she understood. He meant to take her from behind, they had never done it like this, she had never allowed Daario to do it like this, no one had since her earliest days with Khal Drogo. She waited for the panic to come, the sense of dread she had felt every time her husband had come to her before she had learned to play her part, the dread she had felt the only time Daario had tried it but it didn’t come. She tensed a little, yes, but that was all, she exhaled slowly and placed her hands on the edge of the pool, feeling the stone beneath her fingers. ‘Jon.’ She whispered as he ran his hands down her back, stopping to squeeze her ass. 

‘Hum?’

‘I don’t do it like this.’ She told him. Instantly she felt him back away, hands disappearing from her bottom. She straightened up and looked back at him, his expression was apologetic. ‘I haven’t let anyone since…’ She let the words dangle, unsaid. She had explained much of her time with the Dothraki to him on the boat. The expression that crossed his face then was one of understanding. She took a deep breath. ‘I would like to try.’

He raised an eyebrow at that. ‘Are you sure? We don’t have to.’ He assured her. 

She smiled at him. Perhaps it was time that made her feel as if it was alright to try, perhaps it was the man. ‘I would like to try.’ She repeated, leaning close to kiss him gently, trailing her fingers down his beard before she turned back, placing her hands on the edge of the pool again. 

He came back to her, hands gentler now as they wondered over her body. ‘If you change your mind…’

She nodded, leaning forward until the water nearly touched her face. He gripped her hip with one hand while the other lined his cock up with her opening, she felt him there, pressed against her, it was rough for a moment as he pushed himself in, the water having washed away her slick desire. But the feeling disappeared as he gave a few slow thrusts, working his way in to the hilt. She gasped at the feeling, the fullness of it, it was different from this angle, not the pain she had associated with it before, but deeper and raw. She moaned, her hands flexing on the stone. Jon took her cue and began to thrust harder, she met him each time, his hands on her hips to steady himself. She gave up trying to be quiet, she moaned wantonly, crying out as she felt her body start to tense, another release building within her. Water splashed up against edges with every thrust, she felt as though she were caught within a storm. Her body tightened around him, she closed her eyes and gave herself over to the sensation, existing in a world of nothing but pleasure and heat. 

She was dimly aware of Jon behind her, continuing to push into her, chasing his own pleasure, his movements became erratic, faster, harder until he grunted, thrusting into her with incredible force, his cock pulsing inside her as he spilled himself. 

_Let it take root_. It was a foolish hope, but she turned her head toward the distant heart tree with its blood red leaves and willed Jon’s old gods to hear her anyway. Perhaps they would answer her prayers, perhaps after everything she had sacrificed fighting their war, they would grant her this. 

Limbs feeling like lead she pulled herself up, causing Jon to slip from her body. She leaned back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her cheek affectionately. She had never had a lover who treated her so. Drogo had been rough and aggressive in everything, even after things had gotten better, he had rarely ever kissed her, with Daario it was all fun and games, passion and desire but not heart, He had never kissed her like she was precious.

‘We should probably get out.’ He said regrettably after a while.

‘Why? I could stay here all night.’

Jon chuckled. ‘Well we aren’t all unburnt, the hot springs have been known to make people sick if they stay too long.’

‘But it’s cold out there.’ She complained, pouting ever so slightly. 

‘It’s only a short walk back to the guest house.’ He told her, pointing at the moss-covered wall. ‘There’s a shortcut not far from here.’

She reluctantly agreed, climbing out and shivering as the cold air hit her skin, she pulled her clothes on as quickly as she could, fighting to shove her wet feet in her boots. 

She looked up to find Jon looking just as cold as she felt despite his northern blood. She smirked as she realized how unpresentable they both appeared, there would be no doubt what they’d been up to if anyone saw them. When they had both dressed the best they could, he grabbed her hand again and she found herself running down a different path then the one they had taken before. He led her close to the stone wall until they came upon a much smaller wooden gate that led out into the courtyard just outside the guest house where her chambers were. ‘See? Not so far.’ He commented; she couldn’t help but noticed that his teeth were chattering just as hers were. Still she couldn’t deny that she was enjoying herself, as they run through the ground floor corridor and up a flight of stairs to her chambers she felt like a girl, young and full of hope. The Unsullied they passed stood at attention but otherwise made no move or expression, it wasn’t until they were nearly to their destination that they came up short, nearly running into Missandei and Grey Worm. 

‘Your Grace.’ Missandei greeted with a raise of her eyebrow. Next to her Grey Worm watched with the same schooled expression all of the unsullied wore. 

‘Missandei.’ She replied back trying to keep a straight face.

‘You are wet.’ Grey Worm observed next to her. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Yes, quite.’ She assured him, he nodded. Curiosity was something the unsullied were trained not to show, like most emotions. He cared only that she was unhurt, if he wondered why she and Jon were wet he would not ask.

Missandei was another story. ‘Forgive me your Grace, but why are you wet?’ Her advisor asked. 

‘Hot Springs.’ She answered.

‘Hot Springs?’ Missandei repeated, sounding quite intrigued.

‘Aye, in the Godswood.’ Jon supplied. 

You go for swim? At night, in cold?’ Grey Worm asked in broken common tongue, for Jon’s benefit.

Missandei smirked slightly. ‘Good Night Your Grace, My Lord.’ She nodded to both of them while Grey Worm looked on in slight confusion. No doubt Missandei would explain it to him after. Perhaps they would venture down there themselves. The thought warmed her; Missandei, Grey Worm, they were her family and she wanted them to find happiness, there seemed so little of it in the world. Turning her attention back to Jon as they continued on to her chambers, she gave his hand a squeeze and he turned his head to smile at her. She would be lying if she said she didn't want that happiness for herself as well. For most of her life it had seemed an elusive dream to her, something out of stories told to children and not real life. And yet as Jon let her into her chambers and together they stripped themselves bare of their wet clothes, as they huddled together under her furs, laughing and touching she realized that happiness was not only a possibility for her it was a reality in this moment and she would burn anyone who sought to take it from her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Gendry didn’t become lord of Storms End. At least not yet. Daenerys was a little preoccupied with her other announcements and besides I wanted to give Gendry and Arya a little more time to bond before he makes an idiot of himself. 
> 
> Side note: I found Tyrion’s reaction to the scene in the show to be incredibly frustrating and downright odd. He acts like naming Gendry a Lord was somehow underhanded and wrong. She was playing the game, which was what he wanted from her. Yes, it brings the Stormlands until her control. That’s the point!! That’s how Lordships work, she would have been a fool not to use that opportunity. 
> 
> Also in regards to Daenerys rejecting the Northern Crown; Honestly bending the knee when he did was just dumb and exceptionally bad writing, marriage at that point would have made a world of sense. Her returning it now is more about appeasing the lords, most of whom will be of two minds about it: relieved that they will be governed by one of their own while also waiting for the first opportunity to point out that he was given his crown by a woman, that part's not going to be forgotten. It works as Dany hopes it will but the cost will be Jon’s to bare. It also made make a few on them (cough -Glover - cough) more likely to cling to Sansa


	6. chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing about Dany’s understanding of Targaryen History. I’ve often read fics where she seems to know everything about her family and the Starks are oddly ignorant. Dany admits in the books that her education is lacking and she wishes she knew more about her family. She was only 4 when Ser Darry died and she never received any formal education, what she knows was passed on by Viserys who probably wasn’t the greatest teacher and a child himself. The Starks however were formally educated; Arya idolized the warrior queens like Visenya and Jon idolized Daeron the Young Dragon. Like most kids I imagine Dragon lore would have been highly entertaining to them and despite the show’s assertion that the Starks are all unrefined bruts (what’s west of Westeros?) Winterfell contains the most extensive collection of books and records outside of the Citadel. Also in an age without mass media, stories and word of would be incredibly important, there would be lots of stories and rumours about the Targaryens.
> 
> Another thing; Before s8 aired the Actress talked about how Arya was trying to reclaim some of the innocence of her childhood. Now unless she was referring to playing hide and seek with the dead in the library I totally missed that arc. Try as I may I feel like my Arya comes off a bit more human than s8’s Arya, so I’m going with it. Let Arya reconnect with her humanity.

Chapter Six.

This chapter contains a detailed description of what might be a miscarriage. Please be gentle with yourself.

The atmosphere in the Great Hall the morning following the feast was quite different then the night before. Next to her at the High Table Arya held her head in her hands and glared at anyone who dared make noise. 

‘I didn’t think you were celebrating last night. You disappeared so early.’ She commented as she poured honey on her porridge. 

Arya groaned. ‘I drank.’

‘I can see that.’

‘Don’t be difficult Sansa, I beg you. I can’t handle it this morning.’

Sansa sighed at her sister. Looking around the hall she wondered if she was the only one not suffering from too much drink this morning. 

‘Good Morning my dear Lady Stark.’ Sansa closed her eyes for a moment at the sound of Tyrion’s voice, steeling herself for the coming conversation. Of course, her former husband wasn’t suffering this morning. She was certain he was immune to the after effects of alcohol, either that or he was never sober enough to feel them. 

‘Good Moring My Lord Hand.’ She greeted as he took a seat several chairs down, leaving room for her brother and the Queen should they bless them all with their royal presence.

‘Quite an eventful evening, was it not?’ He kept his tone light but she knew him better than that, even after all this time.

‘She didn’t tell you, did she?’

Tyrion grimaced, ‘The Queen made that decision on her own, which is her right.’

Sansa almost felt bad for him, after all she knew what it was like to try to advise someone who would rather not hear it. 

Evidently Tyrion had picked up on that. ‘With the two of them wed I fear we will both be out of the job. They will listen to no one but each other.’

‘I am not Jon’s advisor.’ Not officially, she was the Lady of Winterfell, that at least had not changed. 

‘My mistake.’ Tyrion relented. He poured himself a glass of wine and nodded to a servant girl who brought his meal. He scrunched up his face when he looked at his bowl. ‘I never was fond of porridge.’ He lamented.

Sansa sighed. ‘It’s winter, My Lord, meat has to be rationed, particularly with so many…guests.’ She considered informing him of how little wine was left but decided to it was too early to ruin his day. 

‘I mean no offense to our generous hosts.’ He assured her as he poured an obscene amount of honey into his bowl. ‘You know, with the Queen’s announcement it would seem prudent for you to try to form a more civil bond with Her Grace.’

‘Oh?’

‘She is to be your good sister after all. It wouldn’t hurt…’

‘As I recall Cersei was my good sister once as well.’ She shot back.

Tyrion sighed. ‘We can do better, we can all do better. Her Grace is not your enemy, she is not Cersei.’ He sounded tired, more so than she ever remembered him sounding. The game, it seemed, was catching up with him.

‘He’s right you know.’ 

Sansa turned her head to glare at Arya, whose presence she had forgotten. Her sister still looked miserable as she nursed a mug of what Sansa assumed was ale. She raised an eyebrow at her.

‘She’s not Cersei and it might be best to make nice with a woman who has dragons.’

Sansa’s glare intensified. She had no desire to make nice with the Queen, either of them. What she wanted was…what she wanted was a crown, though she could hardly admit that. She was tired of being at the mercy of others, tired of people having control over her life because she was a woman. She had hoped to take the North with Littlefinger’s help when he had married her off to Ramsey; she had hoped to take the North when she called on the Vale Knights. Instead the Lords had chosen the Bastard over the Girl. Still Jon at least was unlikely to use her for his own gain, she had also privately hoped that he would be easily controlled. He had always deferred to his betters as a child, knowing his place well, she had imagined that he would have continued that, deferring to her as she outranked him by blood if not by title. She had been proven painfully wrong. 

‘She is right.’ Tyrion said, agreeing with Arya.

Sansa bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from screaming, or swearing or something equally unladylike. ‘I will consider it.’ Was all she said on the subject. Tyrion looked like he was going to continue but she shot her a glare that quickly made him shut his mouth. 

‘What do you think of their betrothal My Lord?’ She asked instead. 

Tyrion emptied his wine cup and set it back down. ‘The match makes sense politically.’

A careful answer. ‘But?’

Tyrion sighed. ‘They are in love.’

‘Love is dangerous. People in love are stupid.’ Sansa commented, the words tumbling from her lips without thought. She had believed in love once, believed that she had been in love with Joffery. She had been a fool and the price she had paid or it, continued to pay for it was far, far too steep.

‘You are far too young to have become so cynical.’ Tyrion replied, there was something sad in his expression, as though she had lost something precious. She hated that look. 

‘You mean I’m far too pretty to be so cynical, as I imagine you learned that trait in the cradle.’ She sighed, looking down at the contents of her own cup. ‘People see a pretty girl and they expect her to be silly and shallow. Life has taught me hard lessons Lord Tyrion; to survive I had to kill that silly girl. I do not miss her, do not tell me that you do, I will think much less of you if you do.’

Tyrion stared at her for a moment, measuring her up in a way most people never bothered too. Then he raised his cup, having filled it again. ‘To cynicism.’ He toasted.

Sansa inclined her head, raising her own glass ever so slightly. ‘To realism.’ She countered. 

Last night he had dreamt of Rhaegal’s death though he had not seen it in person, in dreams he watched as the green scaled beast fell from the sky off the coast of Dragonstone. He had woke shaking as the pitiful death cries chased him into the waking world. 

He called a war council as soon as he and Daenerys had broken their fast. He had spoken with Grey Worm the morning before; with the help of Missandei and they had gone over several different approaches but when Jon had pointed out the possibility that the Greyjoy fleet was waiting to ambush them Grey Worm had grown distinctly uncomfortable. He had confided in him quietly that he could not understand how he had forgotten that fact, Missandei had looked on in equal dismay. Jon knew it was The Raven, more proof that he had been meddling with the minds of all those involved but he could hardly explain that to anyone without sounding like a madman or bringing the wrath of a creature he barely understood down on him. He had assured them both that it was the stress of fighting dead men. 

He looked around at those assembled; Arya, Brianne, Yohn Royce, Ser Davos, several of his battle commanders, Grey Worm, a few Dothraki, Missandei, Tyrion, Varys and of course the Queen. It was a far different group than he remembered. He had purposefully left both Sansa and Bran out, he had been tempted to try banning the Spider but he doubted it would have done any good.

‘His Grace will take the Kingsroad down to Kings Landing with your armies, meanwhile the rest of us and the dragons will head to Dragonstone by boat.’ Tyrion announced as though it were his decision. He had already been told that it would not be left to him. ‘It was a sound plan a sennight ago, it’s a sound plan now.’ He insisted.

‘No.’ Grey Worm counted in heavily accented common tongue; he moved a kraken figurine to the waters off Dragonstone. ‘Greyjoy must be near island. He has ambushed us before.’

Tyrion scowled at that, as did Daenerys. 

‘He’s right.’ Davos spoke up, looking over the map. ‘If Euron is worth his salt as a pirate he’ll be waitin’ for ya.’ 

Varys nodded. ‘And we must assume he has been outfitted with Scorpions.’

‘The water isn’t safe.’ Davos agreed.

‘My Dragons can take Euron Greyjoy.’ Daenerys interjected

Jon shook his head. ‘Maybe if you have the element of surprise, but you told me they are more vulnerable without a rider. I can’t be in two places at once.’ He moved around the map table to stare at the Kingsroad. He had a been mulling over a plan for a while now but he wasn’t sure how to sell it, he just knew he had to keep Daenerys, Missandei and Rhaegal away from that damned island. ‘We need more men.’ He said finally. ‘We need to gain back some of our advantage.’

‘And where exactly do you plan to find these men?’ Tyrion asked, his usual snide tone slightly less certain than it had been a few minutes ago. 

Jon looked up at Lord Royce. ‘How many more mounted knights does the Vale have at its command?’

Lord Royce gave the appearance of a great bird ruffling its feathers before flight as he puffed himself up and regarded Jon haughtily. ‘8000. But they are not pledged to you or your Queen.’ He reminded him. 

‘No, they’re pledged to my cousin.’ Arya supplied, looking toward the Vale with interest. ‘You know how the Targaryen’s won over the last Vale King?’ She asked with a grin.

Tyrion groaned. ‘Well, he does like to make things fly.’ He muttered. Jon wasn’t sure what that was about but Sansa had told him something of the boy after she had shown up at Castle Black. 

Looking slightly uncomfortable, Daenerys shifted her position across from him. ‘My education regarding Westerosi history is sometimes lacking. I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.’ She admitted. She had confessed to him before that she knew relatively little about her family history, Viserys having only been six himself when they fled Dragonstone. Jon wished that things had worked out differently with Sam, he would have been the perfect one to help her fill in some of those missing pieces.

It was Arya, predictably, who supplied her with the information. ‘Visenya Targaryen convinced the King of the Vale to bend the Knee by offering him a ride on Vhagar. He wasn’t very old of course. But then my cousin isn’t either.’

‘You want the Queen to travel by dragon to the Eyrie?’ Tyrion sought to clarify.

‘No, I want her to travel by land. All of us by land.’ He corrected. Many of her advisors bristled, as did she. 

‘That will take a month or more.’ She didn’t look remotely impressed by the idea.

Jon readied himself for a fight. ‘More, possibly many more.’

‘A royal progress.’ Tyrion muttered looking more closely at the map. 

Jon nodded. ‘The Vale has 8000 mounted knights, and I’m guessing another 20,000 fighting men, if we can convince Robin Arryn to support us. The RIverlands have been hit hard by recent wars but even they still have pockets of men as well. The Lannisters still hold Riverrun but it’s a small contingent of soldiers, we could liberate it without much trouble, it would win you their loyalty. This would be a good chance for you to meet some of the houses you will need to rule.’

‘We can stir up public mistrust of Cersei as we go.’ Varys supplied. ‘She never leaves the Red Keep, but the people along the Kingsroad have suffered horribly under Lannister Rule.’

Tyrion nodded, seemingly seeing some value in the idea. Daenerys however still looked unimpressed. ‘The longer it takes the more prepared my enemies will be. Can we honestly afford to meander our way across the country?’

‘Time for your enemies to prepare also means time for you to prepare.’ Arya offered. Jon wondered if perhaps her opinion of the Queen had softened somewhat. ‘Send out scouts, get a better idea of what is going on in the capital, perhaps work to destabilize Cersei’s reign from the inside.’ Jon noticed Varys watching her closely as though she was only now of interest to him. 

‘And Dorne has joined our side.’ Tyrion moved a sun figure to the Reach. ‘We may be able to use them to Rally other houses to our side as well. My sister can’t have many supporters left at this point. They just need to see a better option.’ He continued to stare at the map. ‘My only concern is the Queen’s safety.’ He waved to the higher portion of the map. ‘That’s a lot of open country, a lot of opportunities for an assassin.’

‘I’ve travelled by road with my armies before Lord Hand. I had just as many enemies in Essos.’

‘Less trees though.’

‘Unsullied protect Queen.’ Grey Worm insisted. ‘Dothraki protect Queen.’

Several of the Dothraki, whom Missandei had been quietly translating for nodded vigorously. ‘Khaleesi ride with men, Dothraki way.’ One of them said, his common tongue harder to understand than Grey Worm’s. Evidently the Dothraki liked his plan. 

Daenerys remained quiet for a moment, studying the map intently. ‘When do we leave?” She asked.

Jon grimaced. ‘A fortnight from now.’

‘More delays?’ She asked, not the least bit pleased.

Jon nodded to one of his commanders, a Forrester man who had been listening intently. ‘We have many injured Your Grace. If we were to leave in the next few days, we would have to leave fifteen percent of our men behind, they simply wouldn’t survive the march. A fortnight and that number drops to five percent.’

‘And you do have a wedding to plan Your Grace.’ Missandei said with a smile. 

Daenerys took a deep breath and closed her eyes, clearly thinking things over for herself. After a tense moment she nodded. 

Jon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. When the meeting adjourned not long after, with plans to reconvene on the morrow Daenerys stayed behind with him, her fingers trailing across the map until she came to a Kraken figure. She picked it up, tracing the details as she stared at it.

‘I don’t understand how we all forgot about Euron.’ She whispered. ‘except for you.’ She pointed out. She replaced the figure and looked up at him. ‘Your vision?’

Jon nodded. ‘He attacked you, off Dragonstone.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It cost you dearly.’

‘Who did I lose?’ She asked, her voice soft and strangely hollow.

Jon stiffened. ‘I don’t think telling you that will help anything.’ He told her truthfully. The images of his vision had been nothing but a blur to him of late but at that moment he remembered the woman he had found on Dragonstone; the pain, the desperation. He had failed her; he had failed her so badly in that moment. 

She watched him now, a ghost of that woman in her eyes. ‘It wasn’t real Dany. It didn’t happen. For all we know it was a hallucination caused by my head injury. What good could come from me telling you?’

‘You say it wasn’t real but this plan…you came up with this because of what you saw.’

He conceded. ‘Aye. I did. And maybe I’m mad for doing so.’

‘Tell me what happened and I’ll be the judge of that.’ She insisted. 

Jon ran his hand through his hair, buying time maybe, he wandered to one of the windows, staring down at the courtyard below through the diamond plains. ‘Euron shot Rhaegal out of the sky.’ He finally said, voice low. ‘Cersei captured Missandei. She had her executed.’ He turned to watch her. She looked stoic for a moment but then she cracked. She raised a hand to cover her mouth, her shoulders shaking. 

‘No…’ She whispered.

He went to her, drawing her into his arms. ‘It didn’t happen.’ He told her soothingly. ‘Missandei was just here and Rhaegal is with his brother.’ He rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head trying to bring her comfort. ‘I won’t let it happen.’ He promised.

She shook her head, pulling herself from him. ‘I can’t lose anyone else Jon.’ She told him. 

He closed his eyes, wishing she would let him comfort her. ‘I know.’

She looked down at the map again, her eyes drawn to the south, to Kings Landing. ‘Is it worth it?’ She asked quietly, so quietly he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. ‘I’ve lost so much already’ she continued.

Jon titled his head as he watched her. ‘we could run away’ he suggested. ‘Start over somewhere no one knows us.’ 

She gave him a small smile. ‘Somewhere warm.’

‘Aye.’ He moved closer to her, sitting on the edge of the map table, in front of her. ‘Buy a farm.’ He ran his hands down her arms in a comforting gesture.

She shook her head. ‘A grove; lemon trees.’

Jon chuckled a little. ‘Lemon trees?’ He asked.

She nodded. Moving further into his arms, resting her forehead against his. ‘When I lived in Braavos as a child there was a lemon tree outside my bedroom window. I’ve loved them ever since.’ She explained.

‘Alright then, a grove of lemon trees.’ He kissed her chastely. ‘We can sell them to my sister at an inflated price.’ Dany pulled back and gave him an odd look. ‘Sansa loves lemons.’ He explained. Daenerys made a face at the mention of her name and Jon was instantly sorry he had brought it up.

‘She will never accept me as her Queen, will she?’ She pulled back again, the girl; Dany replaced by the Dragon Queen.

‘Does she need to?’ He asked. 

Daenerys raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Most of the Northern Lords seem pleased enough with our marriage, Northern blood that close to the Throne is something they’ve never had. If Sansa doesn’t care for it, what difference will it make. She doesn’t have the support to rebel.’

Daenerys paced the room, obviously stewing over his words. She suddenly looked vulnerable again.

‘What is it?’ He prompted watching her.

She started to say something and then stopped herself. She stared off somewhere in the distance for a moment before she tried again. ‘It’s ridiculous really.’ She said.

‘What is?’

Daenerys let out a frustrated sound. ‘I wanted them to like me.’ She admitted. ‘Your family, I wanted them to like me.’ She gave him a baneful look. ‘It’s all your fault you know? I didn’t care what people thought of me before you came along, now I’m upset that some… cold as ice Northern Lady doesn’t want to be my friend.’ She huffed and sat down in one of the chairs that had been lined up by the wall to give everyone more room. Jon could tell that ‘cold as ice’ wasn’t the first phrase she’d thought of to describe Sansa. If she didn’t look so vulnerable, he would have found it amusing, she had never looked less like a Queen than she did in that moment and he had seen her in some very unqueenly positions. 

‘It’s not your fault.’ Jon assured her. 

‘I thought I already told you it was yours.’

Jon laughed softly before going over and dropping down in front of her, he took her hands in his. ‘I am sorry for my sister. Sisters.’ He corrected. ‘I am sorry for my siblings and my damn Northern Lords.’ She squeezed his hands. ‘I should have been sterner with the lot of them, I’ve been making a mess of everything since Sam told me about my parents.’ Longer than that if truth be told. 

She sighed and raised her hand, running it across his beard. He leaned into it, grateful for her touch. ‘It would rattle anyone, to learn their parents weren’t who they thought they were. Even without the rest of it. I am just glad you decided not to let it interfere with us.’

‘As am I. I feared you would hate me for it. I was a fool.’

Daenerys looked back at the map table again. ‘There seems to be a lot of that going around.’

Jon followed her gaze. ‘I have my suspicions about it.’ He admitted. ‘But I fear saying anything out loud. I need to look into something first.’ He stood back up and guided her to her feet as well. ‘In the meantime, about my sisters. There isn’t much I can suggest when it comes to Sansa, to be fair I haven’t figured out how to make her like me either. I thought once perhaps we had put away our childhood grudges but it seems not.’ He shrugged. It bothered him, of course it did. He had wanted her to see him as a brother, to be his family, the way Arya and Robb had been. He knew now that it was not to be. Despite her words she didn’t see him as a Stark and if she were to learn the truth she would use it to her advantage. ‘But Arya may be more agreeable.’ Daenerys opened her mouth to disagree. ‘I know she seems cold. But I think you’d have an easier time with her. She was always a fan of Targaryen history. As a child she could recite every Targaryen Dragon and their riders. She always wanted to be like Visenya.’

‘You think she would like to meet the Dragons.’ She concluded, reading his mind it seemed. 

‘I think it might break the ice a little.’ Dany thought it over for a moment before nodding. ‘But Dany, I want you to know that I will choose you. Even if they never warm up to you. You are my family too, in more ways than one.’ 

She gave a smile. Her eyes suddenly teary though she tried to hide it. ‘Thank you.’ She whispered, kissing him sweetly on the lips. ‘You don’t know what it means to me to hear that.’ She told him as their lips parted. She gave him a smile and walked out, leaving him alone with the map and all the plans. 

She was wrong though, he mused, as he stood and made his way to one of the windows, looking down at the brewery. He did know how much it meant; those were words he had never heard either. He had grown up knowing he was a mistake and therefore last in line for everything from the choice of meats at dinner to his father’s attention. He could never have imagined someone willingly choosing him. If this vision of his was true it had proven that the Stark’s would choose themselves in the end, casting him out as soon has he was no longer useful to them. But Daenerys she…

He stopped that train of thought. His relationship with Dany in that vision was complicated and messy. He didn’t want to think about that part of it, not now, not ever. He would change things, he had to. This plan was an important part of that; keep Missandei and Rhaegal away from Euron’s fleet, give Daenerys as much support as she needed to overcome the darkness that threatened her. 

Maester Aemon had told him that love was the death of duty and he knew in that horrible vision he had told someone that perhaps Duty was the death of love. But what if his duty was to love her? To give her what she needed to be the visionary she could be? Why did he naturally assume that duty had to hurt? That it had to cost him something? Wasn’t it possible that he could find joy in it? After everything he’d been through was that so much to ask?

Tyrion Lannister scowled as he poured another cup of wine, or whatever it was the Northerners called wine. He had spread his own map over the table in his room and he sat staring at the damn thing as though that would make it all make sense. Something wasn’t right. How could he have not foreseen the Greyjoy fleet _again_! 

He rubbed his forehead, trying to stave off the oncoming headache. Perhaps he needed to cut back on the alcohol; maybe it was dulling his senses. He had once told Jon Snow that his mind was all he had and now it seemed even that was failing him. 

‘Something troubling you my friend?’ 

Varys. Tyrion didn’t bother wondering how he’d managed to sneak into his rooms unheard, they did call him the Spider for a reason. ‘Something. Everything.’ He waved his hand at the map. ‘How did I not see it?’

Varys rounded the table and lowered himself into one of the chairs. ‘Are you upset that you missed it or that you were shown up by Ned Stark’s bastard?’ 

Tyrion sighed. ‘The boy was never stupid. Clever, in fact and quite observant.’ He mused silently for a moment. ‘Did he seem clever to you? When he came to Dragonstone?’

Varys shook his head. ‘No. I would not have attributed that trait to him, just as I would not have attributed it to Ned Stark.’

‘I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. It nags at me.’ He admitted, giving voice to something that had only half formed in his mind. ‘I don’t feel the same as I did.’

‘Age My Lord, it dulls even the sharpest blade.’

‘Would you keep your clever retorts to yourself for a minute and listen to me?’ Tyrion all but snapped. Varys raised a pale eyebrow and then gestured for him to go on. ‘Since coming back to this gods forsaken shit hole of a country I have made mistake after mistake, I failed to predict the original attack by Euron Greyjoy which cost us our Dornish allies. I miscalculated Jaime’s actions in the Westerlands and the Ranch which cost us most of our fleet and Highgarden. I sent our men up beyond the wall in search of a wight when I knew Cersei wasn’t going to listen to us and that cost us a Dragon. Then I still managed to give my darling sister the benefit of a doubt when she agreed to fight for us. I really should have known better. And now this…’. He gestured again to the map then he continued on in his rant. ‘When Jon Snow came to Dragonstone he seemed far more subdued than I remembered him being; passive almost, with none of the fire I saw in him at six and teen. But, I thought, people change. Having one’s whole family slaughtered is sure to leave a mark. And yet since the fight with the dead he seems more the boy to me than the man.’

‘I am not sure where you’re going with this.’ Varys admitted.

Tyrion shook his head. ‘Neither am I. I have no answers; I don’t even have any theories. All I have are my failures and this glass of wine…and you.’

‘A pitiful situation to find oneself in.’ Varys agreed. 

Tyrion groaned. ‘I used to be smart, clever, witty, charming even.’

‘Are you done complimenting yourself?’

‘It’s not flattery.’ He insisted. ‘I was all of those things. Once I would have seen Euron Greyjoy coming before he even set sail.’ He tipped a finger against his cup. ‘What if there is some form of magic at play?’ He asked tentatively. 

Varys gave him a scornful look. ‘Your ego never ceases to amaze me.’

‘Hear me out! We have dragons again; real firebreathing dragons. We have armies of the dead, a man who rose from the dead, if Brianne of Tarth is to be believed, and she hardly seems like the most imaginative type, Renly Baratheon was killed by a shadow. Magic exists.’

Varys rolled his eyes. ‘an Unfortunate truth.’ 

‘What if…what if magic is responsible for this too?’

‘Even if it was and I am not supporting the idea that Tyrion Lannister is only capable of making mistakes if someone curses him but even if it is how would you prove it?’ 

Tyrion thought for a moment, gaze somewhere off in the distance. ‘I can think of someone who might be able to help.’ He said after a while.

‘Oh? And who would that be?’ 

‘Lord Royce.’ Jon came upon the Rune Knight in the armory as he discussed the benefits of castl e forged steel with a boy Jon assumed was one of the vale squires. He looked up when Jon called his name; his lined face a mask of polite curtesy.

‘Your Grace.’ He greeted. Jon managed to contain his grimace; he had hardly wanted the damn title again, not that Lord Royce sounded completely sincere about it.

‘I was wondering if you could help with something.’ 

‘If it pleases you Your Grace.’ He waved off the squire and came to stand closer to him. 

Jon had no doubt the old knight would rather have Sansa in charge of things but he would take what he could get. He pulled the piece of parchment from a pocket hidden in his cloak and unfolded it before showing it to Royce. Apparently, it was enough to overcome any hostility as the man’s face lite up. ‘I was wondering if you knew it’s meaning?’

‘It is a rune of the First men.’ Royce verified, touching his breastplate and the runes inscribed upon it. He pointed directly to one over his heart. ‘An older version of this one I assume.’ The one he pointed to had more arrows and a half one coming from the bottom in the other direction. 

‘What does it mean?’

‘In its most basic form it’s an arrow.’ He explained. ‘In a more arcane sense it means protection, a ward against evil or an enemy.’ He continued. 

‘A ward.’ Jon repeated, thinking it over in his head.

Royce nodded. ‘The first men would carve them above doors to stave off evil spirits and mark them with salt before holding meetings to ensure no one was listening.’ He shrugged. ‘They were a superstitious people; the first men. Of course, they were fighting the Children and they are said to have magic no man could yield.’ 

Jon nodded, more to himself that to the Lord. ‘Thank you, My Lord.’

‘Of course, Your Grace. If I may ask; why are you curious about it?’

Jon looked up at him as he folded to the parchment back up and returned it to his cloak. ‘I had seen it several times beyond the wall.’ He lied. ‘I was just curious.’ 

Royce nodded again as Jon took his leave, making his way back to the warmth of the castle. The First men were said to have been greenseers and wargs. Was it possible the rune was used to ward against them? Wargs were used as scouts and spies by the Free Folk to this day and what was the Raven? He was certainly something akin to a warg and a greenseer as well from what he had been told. Did the rune work against him? Was that why he continued to see it in his dreams, a warning of some kind? 

He wished he could be sure. If the rune could be used to cloud the Raven’s vision, he would be able to voice his suspicions to Dany without fear of being overheard. 

As he passed by the tilt yard, he was roused from his musings by the sound of an eager crowd cheering for what he assumed was a spar or perhaps a fight. Fearful that a genuine brawl might have broken out between members of the different factions that still resided in and around Winterfell he pushed his way through the growing crowd of onlookers to find Arya and Brianne going at it as though their lives truly depended on it. 

The people around him seemed to finally notice who stood in their presence, many took a few steps away giving the King space. It was the first time he had ever truly seen his sister fight and the sight took his breath away. She danced around Brianne with an unnatural grace; her face a blank mask of concentration but her eyes were alight. Despite the fact that Brianne had a good foot and a half on Arya she seemed to be having trouble getting her superior size and strength to work to her advantage. She cleaved her sword downward but Arya easily blocked it, using needle to redirect the majority of the force and turning on her heels, spinning out of Brianne’s reach and behind her before the knight knew what had happened. Still busy lifting Oathkeeper back up from her swing she was completely oblivious to Arya’s new position. His sister never stopped moving; she managed to kick Brianne’s knees out and had Needle directed at her opponent’s throat within seconds. Brianne graciously yielded and the crowd broke out into applause; cheering to the slayer of the Night King. 

Jon clapped along with them; the colour in Arya’s cheeks rising when she noticed he had been watching. She sheathed her sword and walked over to him. ‘Maybe you can spar with me next time.’ She suggested. ‘They say you’re the best sword in the North. I’d like to test that claim.’ 

Jon snorted. ‘They say a lot of shit.’ 

‘So, you’re not that good?’ She asked, a sly smile curling the corners of her lips. 

‘When do you think you’ll be leaving?’ He deflected as the two of them began to walk back through the dispersing crowd. Arya gave him a look that reminded him again of the girl she used to be but she let him off with it. 

‘I had every intention of leaving in the next few days.’ She admitted. ‘There’s something I wanted to do down south. But since you asked me to officiate at your wedding I’ve had to delay.’

‘March with us.’ He suggested. 

Arya raised an eyebrow at him. ‘I’m not much of a soldier, I prefer to work alone.’ 

Jon looked around the yard, taking stock of their surroundings, coming to a quick decision he altered his course and gestured for her to follow. Through an open doorway and up a flight of stairs to the covered bridge that spanned the yard where they often met as children., the space was seldom used and several crates lined the walls. He could still remember the last time they had sat here, watching as Robb Sparred with Joffery. 

‘What is it?’ Arya asked, her expression serious now. Jon thought back to the piece of paper in his cloak and what Yohn Royce had told him; could it really be that easy to cloud the Raven’s vision? Or did it require something else? ‘Jon.’ Arya prompted when he didn’t immediately explain.

He took a deep breath and tried to gather his thoughts. It was true in some regards that he had felt clearer since he had hit his head than he had in months, years maybe and yet his thoughts surrounding his vision and the Raven were often a jumbled mess. Much like his thoughts about his parents. ‘When I hit my head’ he began, ‘I think I had a vision.’ Gods, he sounded like an idiot.

‘A vision?’ Arya questioned, obviously thinking the same thing.

Jon grimaced. ‘I know how it sounds but after everything we’ve seen is it not possible?’

For a moment his sister looked like she was somewhere else, then she nodded curtly for him to continue.

‘I saw things that have yet to happen, the campaign in the south.’

‘I take it, it didn’t go well?’ 

‘To put it mildly.’ Arya continued to watch him, her expression unfathomable even to him, she walked the few feet across the walkway and leaned against the wall, arms folded over her chest. 

‘The Greyjoy fleet?’ She asked. ‘You know where they are.’

Jon nodded. ‘Aye. In my vision no one picked up on it. A thousand ships and everyone seemed to forget.’

Arya shrugged. ‘But you still think this was a vision and not some kind of hallucination?’ 

‘You were in that room; everyone would have followed Tyrion’s plan if I hadn’t said something.’ Jon sat down on one of the crates, a sudden wave of exhaustion crashing into him. ‘It’s not the only odd things that’s happened of late.’

Arya raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean besides the army of dead men.’ 

Jon managed to chuckle at that. ‘Aye, besides that. Tyrion has made an awful lot of mistakes regarding the Targaryen forces since they landed back on our shores. It’s not like him to be careless.’

‘Perhaps the Imp is playing both sides.’ She suggested. ‘It is his family on the throne.’

‘A sister who hates him.’ He pointed out. 

‘Could you do it?’ Arya continued to watch him, her stare intense and unnerving. He knew she was looking for something, but he wasn’t sure what. ‘If you had to wage a war against Sansa, could you do it?’

‘Sansa isn’t Cersei.’ Yet. He thought about the southern Queen, the expression she had worn the entire time she had stayed at Winterfell all those years ago and the one she wore in the Dragonpit. It was not dissimilar to Sansa’s own mask. 

‘If she was? If she proved to be just as bad as Cersei could you do it?’ She pressed.

‘Yes.’ He answered without thinking this time. Something inside him broke open in that moment, the pain and devastation that had followed him back to the wall and well beyond it, the last years of the vision coming back so strongly he had to fight to not grab at his head. He had done the right thing, he would do the right thing again, even if it meant… ‘Yes, I would.’

‘I believe you. But then again, you’re not the imp. It’s still possible his loyalties are not entirely to your Queen.’

‘Our Queen.’ He corrected. His sister merely shrugged. ‘He’s not the only one who has done foolish things they can’t account for.’

‘Oh?’

‘I have. When I look back, I realize that I’ve done things I can’t quite justify.’

That got her interest. ‘Like what?’

‘I told you that Sansa never told me about the knights of the Vale. I never said a thing to her about it. We fought continuously about battle plans beforehand, she had plenty of opportunity to tell me. If she had it would have changed our whole strategy and there is a chance that Rickon would have lived. Instead she kept it to herself; she let Rickon die, I almost died. And I never said a word to her about it. She has undermined me at every turn and I’ve rarely said a thing to her about it. It’s like it all just disappears the moment it’s over. I look back and I can’t explain it. Just as I can’t explain why I told Cersei that I was allied with the Targaryen forces. It was stupid and I should have just shut up but…honour. ‘ He threw his hands up in the air in a gesture of defeat. He cringed when he thought back to some of the decisions he had made lately. He had always valued honour but what good was honour if it led to innocent people getting hurt; was it still honour if it caused more deaths?

‘I’m not sure I understand where you’re going with this.’ She admitted.

‘What do you know about The Three Eyed Raven?’ He asked instead. If she was thrown off by the change in topic, she didn’t show it.

‘Not much. Only what Bran has told me.’

‘Is he though? Bran I mean.’ Now it was Jon’s turn to watch her intensely. ‘He keeps saying he’s not Bran anymore. Then who or what is he?’

‘You’re suggesting that Bran is somehow controlling people?’

‘No, I’m suggesting that the thing that wears our brothers face is controlling people. Or maybe controlling is too strong a word; manipulating perhaps.’ He stared off into the distance for moment, debating if he should say this next part. ‘In my vision, do you know who ended up as King?’

Arya’s stoic mask cracked, for a moment she looked every bit the little girl he remembered. ‘No.’ She breathed out. ‘How? Why? He said he can’t be a Lord anymore, how would he end up as King.’

‘There was a council of Lords, Tyrion nominated Bran.’

‘The Queen?’ 

‘She died.’ 

‘And you?’

‘It’s a long story. But I wasn’t a king then.’

Arya gave him a strange look then, but she let it pass. ‘So, Tyrion put forth Bran and Bran accepted this?’ 

‘It seemed it was what he was after. What I was told after was that he seemed to know it was coming.’

‘But why would Bran want to be king?’ She questioned shaking her head.

‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you; I’m not convinced it is Bran at all. He is so different, more so than the rest of us and I’m not sure I trust him.’

Arya watched him again, letting the words sink in. ‘How did the Queen die?’ She asked suddenly.

‘I don’t remember.’

‘You’re lying!’ Her words were laced with triumph. ‘I had no idea you knew how, but you are. Just as you lied when you said you weren’t a king by then.’ 

‘Arya.’ He warned, she simply shrugged.

‘What does this have to do with me going south with you?’ She asked. ‘If you suspect Bran isn’t what he appears then maybe I would be better off staying here.’

‘Perhaps, but we both know you won’t.’

‘No, as you said I have things to do down south.’

‘I want you to stay close to us. Whatever I fear Bran is doing it affects us; Daenerys, Tyrion and me, it seems, more than anyone else. I need your eyes.’

‘You want me to spy?’ She asked for clarification.

Jon bristled slightly; was there honour in such a thing? He forced himself to push that thought away. The lives of the people were all that mattered, and Daenerys ,but that was for far more selfish reasons. ‘Yes.’ He told her. 

‘And what if I’m being controlled by The Three Eyed Raven?’ She asked. He could tell by the look on her face what she thought of the idea. 

‘I don’t think it works like that. Not entirely. When I was North of the wall with the Free Folk I did learn some things about wargs; skinchargers.’ He clarified. ‘Lesser animals are easier to control. The more intelligent the harder it is, the more powerful a warg it requires. Wearing the skin of other men is strictly forbidden. There are tales of course of those who have tried it. It never ends well. If Bran was controlling people in such a manner we’d know.’

‘How?’

‘It destroyers the mind of the person who’s skin they steal.’ He remembered first hearing the tale from Ygritte as they lay together in their furs. He had asked her about Orell and his eagle and she had sought to frighten him with the worst stories of beastlings she could remember. 

Arya nodded, accepting this bit of information. ‘And if he blinds me to something I should notice?’ She asked instead.

‘I’m working on that. But do you think you’d be easily manipulated?’

‘No.’ She answered at once. ‘Not now that I’m aware.’ She looked down at her boots as she kicked at a knot in the wood floor. ‘I will come south with you, but I can’t promise I won’t go off once we get to Kings Landing. I have things I need to do.’

‘Your list?’ He asked. She hadn’t mentioned it to him but Sansa had not long after he’d arrived. 

Arya looked up at him with a startled expression in her grey eyes, it was clear she wasn’t entirely comfortable talking to him about it. ‘Yes, my list. There’s only one name left on it.’

‘Cersei.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘She deserves to die.’ Arya answered. She wasn’t wrong he knew, but something about the way she said it reminded him of the Daenerys in his vision. So utterly assured of what was right and what was wrong. 

‘What other names were on your list?’ He asked, not sure he wanted an answer. 

‘It doesn’t matter, most of them were already dead by the time I got back here. I found Meryn Trent in Braavos though. Does it bother you?’ She asked. ‘That I’m a killer?’

_I know a killer when I see one_

Jon watched her for a moment, a cold tiredness settling into his bones. ‘We’re all killers.’ He finally said. ‘It’s why we’re still here.’

‘The Northerners seem to be warming up to you.’ Missandei observed as she sat by the fire in Daenerys chambers, holding her feet out as close to the flames as she could. 

‘Yes, and all I had to do was sacrifice half my armies, give their king back his crown and vow to marry him.’ She tried not to make it sound like she was bitter but she had a feeling she failed. Missandei watched her closely, a small frown on her face.

‘But that’s not why you decided to marry him is it?’ She asked though she already knew the answer. 

‘No, no it isn’t.’ Dany sipped her wine and contemplated the idea for a moment. ‘I would have agreed to marry him for purely political reasons, I was prepared after all to enter into another such marriage when I came here. The fact that I have feelings for him is simply a bonus.’ She looked up to see Missandei giving her an odd look. ‘What?’

‘You have feelings for him? Forgive me Your Grace but it seems rather more than that.’ Her friend replied with a grin. 

‘Fine. I love him.’ She admitted, smiling despite herself.

‘And whatever troubles you were having before the battle? You have resolved them?’ Of course, Missandei knew, though Daenerys had not mentioned it at the time. Jon had avoided her for several days after he’d discovered the truth of his parentage. At the time she had brushed it off as nerves, tensions had been running extremely high for everyone and she had not known him long enough to anticipate how he dealt with such things.

Daenerys sipped more wine, mulling over her answer. ‘Jon received some personal news that he did not take well. I suppose it is in his nature to turn away from others when he feels conflicted.’ A flaw they both shared, the result of their childhoods; his as a bastard and hers with only Viserys. She wondered how different their lives would have been if the rebellion had ended in their favour. Perhaps they wouldn’t have been so wounded. ‘I don’t believe that he has made his peace with it yet but he is no longer hiding from me.’ She silently thanked the gods for that; she had been so afraid he would turn away from her forever. 

‘I am glad Your Grace. I have never seen you happier than when you are with him. It…’. Her friend hesitated, seeminly unsure how to say whatever it was that was on her mind.

‘What is it Missandei?’ She prompted, feeling a shift in the conversation. Her friend shifted almost nervously; she cleared her throat before she continued.

‘Grey Worm and I have been talking about the future.’ 

‘Oh?’ Daenerys asked, a wave of apprehension washing over her. 

‘When your reign is secure, we would like to travel, visit my homeland.’ The words came out faster than she was sure Missandei meant them to, a hurried jumble as opposed to her usual calm cadence. 

‘Oh.’ Daenerys watched her friend for a moment, the firelight flickering across her lovely face and springy curls, casting her in a warm glow but she looked worried. ‘I understand.’ She assured her, trying to keep her voice even. Deep down she felt dread gnawing at her insides, what would she do without Missandei? ‘I will miss you terribly, both of you.’ 

Missandei leaned toward her, across the arm of her chair, she placed a comforting hand on her arm, a gesture few people would be allowed. ‘You know that I will always be grateful to you, beyond words. But this place…it’s not…’

Daenerys gave her a small sad smile; she placed her hand over Missandei’s where it still sat on her arm. ‘It’s not home. I know.’ 

‘Is it home for you Your Grace?’ She asked, concern colouring her words. 

‘I don’t know.’ Daenerys told her truthfully. ‘I had thought that Dragonstone would hold something for me. Some connection to my past, but… It’s just another castle. Tents, Manses, primands. I keep moving, hoping the next one will feel like home. What if the Red Keep doesn’t feel like home either?’ She asked softly, surprised by the slight tremble in her voice. 

Missandei gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Perhaps home isn’t a place Your Grace.’ She suggested. 

An image of warm grey eyes flickered before her and she felt a sense of warmth in her chest. ‘Perhaps you’re right my friend.’ She placed her cup back on the table beside her. ‘I will also be grateful to you as well.’ She told her. ‘For your advice and your companionship, you will always be a dear friend. Anything that I can provide for you and Grey Worm, for your journey; you need only ask.’ 

Missandei smiled, wide and unencumbered. ‘I never doubted it Your Grace.’

Despite having ended their conversation on a positive note a sense of foreboding followed Daenerys for the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening. She chose to take her dinner in her chambers, not feeling much like being surrounded by boisterous Northerners. Her Handmaids brought her up Essosi food from the Dothraki camp instead of the Westerosi fare served in the castle; the spices were a comfort to her though she found she had little appetite, the first churnings of pain distracting her from her meal. She pressed a hand to her belly as the sensation rippled through her. She knew what it was almost immediately despite the fact that it had been many moons since her moonblood had come. It had been irregular since Rhaego’s birth, often leaving her for long months at a time only to return with a vengeance, the pains more closely resembling those of labour, or what she remembered of it, than a woman’s monthly flow. 

She felt an overwhelming urge to cry then as she pushed back from the table, her meal forgotten. She longed for the heat of Essos; for sun and sand and palm trees and not this unforgiving fortress with its cold lands and its colder people. Another jab of pain nearly took her breath away, she clenched a bedpost for support as she lowered herself to the feathered mattress, she took a deep shuddering breath and waited for the pain to recede. She would have to call on her handmaids again and tell them to bring linens for her use, but before she could bring herself to stand a knock echoed through the room. She knew it was Jon immediately though she couldn’t quite say how she knew. He opened the door before she had time to reply; his eyes scanning the room and taking in her barely eaten dinner before they landed on her. She imagined something must have shown on her face for he was at her side in an instant. 

He sat down next to her, concern marring his handsome features. ‘Are you unwell?’ He asked, his fingered reaching up to brush the tendrils of hair that remained free from her braids. ‘You look pale.’ He observed. 

‘It’s nothing you need concern yourself with Jon.’ She assured him but the concern did not ease from his face. She clinched her teeth as another cramp surged low in her belly and down her thighs. 

‘Dany – ‘ he began, the gentle worry in his voice enough to make her heart flutter and set her nerves on edge at the same time. She wondered how northern men dealt with such things? Jorah had also busied himself elsewhere if the realities of a woman’s life were brought up, would her brave northern dragon pale at the thought of her moon blood?

‘It’s my time.’ She told him simply. He looked confused for a moment until his gaze settled on the hand she still had firmly pressed to her belly. 

‘Ah.’ Was his only reply for a moment, then; ‘Do you have everything you need? Can I get you anything? Have a bath drawn? The Free Folk women use a tea to ease discomfort; is there something like that you need?’ 

Despite the pain, his desire to help her brought a smile to her lips. ‘A bath would be wonderful.’ She admitted. ‘Hot, as hot as they can make it.’

Jon nodded, standing and heading for the door. ‘And send for my handmaids please.’ She continued. ‘they will be able to get me anything else I need.’ 

Jon spoke softly with the unsullied posted outside her door, conveying her wishes to them. When he returned, he watched her closely for a moment more. 

‘Jon, it’s nothing. You don’t need to watch over me.’ She insisted, an ache forming behind her eyes to match the one low in her womb. 

He titled his head as he continued to watch her. ‘I’m sorry. You just look awfully pale.’ He gave her a weak smile. ‘You’re nearly the colour of your hair.’

Surely it wasn’t that bad? Yet when Serri, one of her Dothraki handmaids showed up with strips of linen she too stared at her as though she feared something was terribly wrong. ‘Khaleesi bleed?’ She asked in her heavily accented common tongue. 

Daenerys sighed and stood up from the bed, she hardly needed either of their concern. But as she brought herself up straight a searing pain tore itself through her lower body, making her double over as she cried out in surprise. Jon as there in an instant, his strong arms holding her steady but his gaze wasn’t on her. ‘Dany.’ He breathed, concern clear in his voice. She looked up at him and then followed his eyes to the spot on the bed; red and wet with blood. ‘Tell the guards to call for the Maester.’ He told the young girl who stood staring at the scene in nervous shock. ‘Now!’ He yelled to her when she didn’t move. Dany remained in his arms, doubled over, she watched Serri’s feet as they hurried across the floor. Without warning Jon reached down and hooked his arm behind her bent knees, he scooped her up and carefully laid her back on the bed. She drew her knees up to her chest, the pressure easing some of the pain. 

Now that she had moved, she could feel the rush of blood between her legs; hot and thick, could smell the tang of iron in the air. She knew it was not her moonblood though her head refused to bring form to what else it could be. She suddenly felt very cold, a shiver passing over her. Jon most have noticed for he covered her with furs only seconds later. She felt his weight shift the bed as he sat down behind her. ‘Dany.’ He whispered but she shook her head. She couldn’t consider what was happening, he could not be allowed to give it voice. He said no more though he made no motion to leave her side. 

It seemed like both an eternity and no time at all before the Maester was escorted in by the unsullied, her guard assessed the situation with detached efficiency before seemingly having some sort of silent conversation with Jon and then retracted back to his post outside her door.

The Maester placed a large black leather case on the trunk by the foot of her bed and ushered Jon to step away from the bed. Daenerys stopped herself from protesting his absence but it was a near thing. ‘Your Grace.’ The old man bowed respectfully, the links of his heavy chain clinking together. ‘I will start by asking you some questions and then, with your permission I will conduct a physical examine.’ Daenerys nodded though she had no desire to submit to either. ‘You are experiencing cramping?’ She nodded. ‘When did that begin?’

‘Not long ago, during dinner.’ She answered. She could see Jon standing behind the Maesters shoulder, his face set in worried lines.

‘And when was the last time you experienced your moonblood?’ 

Daenerys frowned, counting it back in her head. ‘They’ve been irregular for years. It must have been when I crossed the Narrow Sea, half a year perhaps.’

The Maester nodded. ‘And, ah, you’ll have to forgive me, but have you been involved in a sexual relationship during your time since?’ To his credit he managed not to look back to Jon as he asked.

‘Yes.’ Was all she said. 

‘Have you experienced any other symptoms? Fatigue, soreness of the breasts, a tender stomach?’

‘I am not with child.’ She answered sharply. The words were like a physical wound but she could not tolerate the Maesters questions. 

‘Your Grace…’

‘I cannot have children.’ She hissed. The Maester grimaced slightly though he did not retreat from her any. He nodded, more to himself than to her, his expression softening into something she couldn’t quite place.

‘I would ask your handmaid to help you remove your outer layers, then I will conduct an examine.’ He told her gently before nodding in the direction of Serri, who quickly came forward and helped Daenerys sit up, the new position brought another wave of pain and a gush of blood. Near the corner of the room the maester spoke to Jon in hushed tones, she could not make out their words but it infuriated her nonetheless. 

As the Dothraki girl helped her remove everything down to a now ruined silken shift she kept her attention on Jon’s face as he spoke with the Maester, every few seconds his eyes would dart to her, his expression one of concern and fear. 

When she was sufficiently bare Serri guided her back onto propped up pillows and the Maester returned to her side. He gave her a gentle smile she could only describe as fatherly before he explained what he would do. His manner was quite different than those of the gruff Dothraki midwives who had seen to her during her pregnancy with Rhaego, they would poke and prod her without any discussion on the matter, of course she had been young and easily led then. 

He began by gently feeling her stomach, first higher up and then low down where her womb sat. She expected he would find nothing but as he began to push down harder, she let out a feral scream, her hands coming to clench his wrist as she attempted to remove him. He backed off on his own, much to her relief. The ghost of the pain still burned through her though and she could feel sweat beading on her forehead and between her breasts. 

With practiced patience he gently explained the next part, knees up, feet together, knees to the sides. He draped a blanket over her lower half, ordinarily she would have scoffed at the attempt to preserve her dignity from Jon who had seen her in some rather undignified positions and yet she found herself rather grateful for his consideration. 

Jon returned to stand closer to the bed as the Maester’s hand disappeared below the blanket, Daenerys chose to focus on her love instead of the gentle intrusion of the Maesters fingers inside her. She held out a hand and Jon quickly took it, squeezing it in his own.

The maesters examine was thankfully quick, he called for a cloth from Serri and cleaned his hands as he stood back up. ‘Linens should be placed under Her Grace.’ He informed the girl. ‘they should not be changed until I have examined them.’ He returned to his case and opened it, shuffling through the contents until he drew out a satchel of herbs. ‘Brew a tea from this, it will ease the pains.’ 

‘I am not having a miscarriage.’ Daenerys insisted, the words escaping her of their own validity.

The maester looked at her again with that strangely infuriating kindness. ‘Be that as it may Your Grace, your body is showing many of the signs. We have to make sure that the process is complete, otherwise corruption will follow.’ Daenerys simply scowled at him. ‘I will grant you some privacy though I will return upon the hour.’ He looked to Jon who he seemed to understand would not be going anywhere. ‘Should the bleeding increase, the pains worsen, she become lethargic or develop a fever call for me at once.’ 

Jon nodded his understanding and the Maester gathered his things and left, her handmaid busied herself with folding thick wads of linen and preparing a pot of water to hang over the fire. When both were in place, she withdrew to on the adjacent rooms to give her Khaleesi more privacy. Jon carefully took up the space beside her, he leaned back against the pillows and slipped an arm in behind he before kissing the top of her head. 

‘I am not pregnant.’ She told him. ‘I was not pregnant.’ Jon said nothing for a moment, his hand rubbing her arm in a comforting motion. When she made to further her argument, he hushed her. 

‘It doesn’t matter.’ He said softly.

‘Doesn’t matter?’ She asked in annoyance, another jolt of pain coursing through her made her wince again. 

Jon pressed his face to the top of her head for a moment before he answered her. ‘Something is wrong and we need you to get better. That’s all that matters to me.’ They were sweet words but she could tell there was much he wasn’t saying.

‘I don’t want you to get your hopes up.’ She told him. ‘I meant it when I said I could have no children.’ 

Jon was quiet for a long time. The water over the fire began to boil, instead of calling Serri back Jon removed himself from her and prepared the tea himself, bringing her a cup when he returned to her side. It was a bitter drink, but she was thankful for its warmth. She thought the conversation long over when he spoke up again.

‘Is it my hopes you fear? Or your own?’ His words were softly spoken but they carried a heaviness she could feel the weight of in her bones.

‘I can’t hope.’ She told him, struggling to keep any tears from falling. ‘All I ever wanted was a family, a home. Not the throne, not titles and armies; those were Viserys’ dreams. But Mine died on the Dothraki sea and so I took up his. Those dreams are enough.’ She told him. ‘They have to be enough.’

Jon wrapped his arm around her again and she let herself succumb to his comfort, resting her head against his chest. When her tea was done, he took the cup from her hands, the pain dulled as the drink did it’s work and she found herself dozing in a hazy in between place.

Below the guest house and across the frozen ground of the godswood that which had once been Brandon Stark sat staring up at the red blood canopy of the Weirwood tree, it’s mournful face mocking him. He knew what was happening above even if those present had no idea, or at least a misguided one. For the first time in millennia he felt the hand of his brethren and it infuriated him. 

_She asked your blessing and you gave it._ He thought. _Such compassionate beasts you are._

The magi who had cursed the young and foolish Daenerys Targaryen had been little more than a hedge witch, relying on talismans and charms to weave her spells; it was crude if effective and now it was coming to an end. 

Another ripple in the timeline, another redirection of his carefully laid plans. When things had begun to go awry after the battle, he had put it down to the natural tendency toward chaos that existed in this world, directing events required constant maintenance after all. But this was something else. 

This changed everything, this meant that the others had finally caught on to his plans, had finally decided to intervene in the world of men. He smirked; the expression odd on the face of the boy whose body he had stolen. If they wanted to play, they were more than welcome to. After all, he had been playing this game for eons. With practiced ease his eyes turned white and his head lulled back as he closed his worthless human eyes and opened his other one. 

Earlier in the day when Tyrion Lannister had confronted him, begging for assistance with a mystery that his clever mind could not solve he had assured the Queen’s Hand that such manipulation was unknown to him. What in the world could do what he suggested? What indeed. 

He had already begun to lay the groundwork for this new course of events but Tyrion’s blind trust in him had been an unexpected and welcome turn, he so rarely had the opportunity to use such a ‘hands on’ approach. By the time the little lion had left him he had been dissuaded of any magical interference and toying with the possibility that he was indeed losing his edge. His continued insecurities would serve the Raven well in the coming months. 

If his fellow old ones wanted to play, they were more than welcome to, he relished the idea in fact. It had been so very long indeed since he’d had worthy advisories. He looked forward to the challenge.

The Maester returned while Daenerys dozed, her head against his shoulder, one hand low on her belly the other clinching the quilted fabric of his gambeson. Wolkan had checked the blood that still pooled below her body and then felt her skin for signs of a fever before excusing himself again. For his part Jon sat quietly, unable to rest or relax, his thoughts a swirling mess of confusion and dread. Despite Daenerys’ insistence that she was not having a miscarriage there was little denying that was exactly what appeared to be happening. 

Jon had never put much faith in the curse Dany believed prevented her from bearing children, though he could hardly deny that magic was indeed a part of their world. For him it seemed nothing more than the spiteful ravings of a vengeful woman but Daenerys believed it whole heartedly, so much so that she saw no reason to take any precaution to prevent a pregnancy. Perhaps he had been a fool to give in to her convictions, casting aside his lifelong fear of fathering a bastard for the warmth of her love. 

As he watched her fitful sleep he was reminded too of his vision, had she been carrying a child then? She had suffered no miscarriage that he had known about, had he been doomed to kill his own child in that awful future? He brushed his free hand over her moonlight silver hair and pressed his lips to her head once more. He feared that this would undo her as Missandei and Rhaegal’s deaths had in his dream.

At some point Daenerys’ handmaid returned to tend the fire; her light feet across the stone floor enough to rouse her Queen from her shallow sleep. Dany seemed disoriented as she stirred, she pushed herself from Jon’s arms and sat further up as Jon reached out to slow her movements. As he feared she gave a shriek of pain, her body shuddering as she curled up toward her knees. Serri was by her side in an instant, her dark eyes wide with fear. ‘Khaleesi?’ 

A look of confusion passed over Dany’s face, one hand reached below the blankets as Jon watched, unsure what to do. A moment later she brought her hand back covered in blood and holding – something. At first Jon couldn’t process what he was looking at; pale white and no bigger than his thumb nail, his first coherent thought was that it was not a babe. Daenerys stared at the object with wide horrified eyes, her hand shaking as she continued to hold it away from her. 

Tentatively Jon reached out and took it from her; it was hard as bone and almost reminded him of Ghost’s milk teeth which he had found all over his room at Castle Black. The shape was slightly different though; it was wider at the base and the tip wasn’t sharp.

‘It looks like a dragon horn.’ He muttered, half to himself. ‘Like the ones on the edges of their frills.’ When he looked back at Daenerys, he realized she hadn’t moved, her hand still outstretched, glassy eyes staring into nothing. Serri hurried to the basin in the corner and returned with a wet linen clothe, she wiped Dany’s hand clean and lowered it back to her lap. 

‘Magi use talismans for magic, Khaleesi.’ The girl said. ‘Dark magic to stop baby from growing in your belly.’ 

‘Were you there when Her Grace lost her son?’ Jon asked, curious. 

‘No, but story is known.’ She told him. She straightened up and pulled her shawl tighter around her body to ward off a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. 

‘But where did the dragon horn come from? The Dragons didn’t…’

‘Serri, please. Leave us.’ Jon startled at the sound of Dany’s voice; he hadn’t even realized she was paying attention. The girl gave a bow before leaving the room, heading back to Dany’s solar in case she was needed again. Beside him Dany took a shuddering breath and reached out her hand for the piece of bone and leaned back against the pillows, running a finger over it almost reverently. It was only then that Jon realized she didn’t seem to be in pain anymore. ‘I need to tell you something.’ She began, her voice distant and devoid of emotion, the voice of the Queen. ‘When my son was born, I was quite sick, a fever nearly took me and I remember very little of it. When I came to, it was to learn that my son was dead – had never lived.’ Her voice cracked, and she took a moment to compose herself. Jon turned so that he could face her, taking her other hand in his. ‘They had taken his body away, I never got to see him.’ 

‘Dany – ‘

She shook her head. ‘Let me say it. I’ve never had to courage to say it.’ Jon frowned but nodded for her to continue. ‘Those that had, they said he was a monster. That he had scales and leathery wings.’ She held up the little horn. ‘This was his, I can feel it.’ She whispered, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. ‘He was a monster.’ She pulled her hand away and brought it to her lips, trying to stifle her own cries. ‘A monster, and she used him to stop me from ever having another.’ She sobbed. ‘Maybe she was right to.’ Jon quickly leaned forward and gathered her up in his arms, she shook against him as she cried.

Jon took the horn back, amazed when she didn’t protest. He stared at the thing as his brow furrowed. ‘Not a monster.’ He whispered as a half-remembered story fought its way to the forefront of his mind. ‘A dragon.’

Dany sniffled. ‘Well yes, but…’

‘There were stories, after the rebellion. I remember hearing it once as a boy, Robb and Theon and I thought it was titillating as only young boys would. Stories of Targaryen babes more dragon than child. Robb asked our Maester about it once and we were told that there was no proof, only stories. According to the tales none of the children ever survived and if the Maesters were aware they left no record of it.’

Daenerys pulled back and stared at him, Jon had the feeling that she was looking for something. ‘You’re not disgusted?’ She asked.

‘No, I’m not disgusted.’ He assured her as he gave her back the little horn. ‘If your handmaid is right and this was used to stop you from conceiving again than..’ He let the sentence hang but Daenerys understood. 

‘I would like to send a message to the Red Temple in Volantis. The Red Priests have always been great supporters of mine and they are well versed in magic. Perhaps they could shed some light on my curse.’ 

Jon thought of Melissandra and her complicated history in Westeros; she had been dedicated to fighting the Dead but he could not forget what she was capable of and the untold numbers that she had sacrificed to her Red God. Thoros had been a priest of the same order and as different from Stannis’ Red woman as possible and yet he couldn’t help but assume that it was Thoros who had been the anomaly. He was none too eager to encounter others of their creed.

But then again, perhaps they could provide insight into the Raven as well. Slowly, hesitantly he nodded. ‘Perhaps they will send someone.’ He paused for a moment, thinking over something else. He hated the idea of ruling and yet – 

‘What?’

‘Melissandra commanded the burning of weirwoods and the destruction of septs during her time with Stannis. If this temple sends another one of their priests, they must know that such things won’t be tolerated. The people of Westeros must be free to worship as they chose.’ 

Daenerys smiled, her face still pale and draw and yet oddly peaceful now. ‘Why Jon Snow that almost sounded like a royal decree.’ 

Jon scoffed. ‘Hardly.’ 

Dany reached out, resting her palm against his cheek. ‘You will be a good King; you are a good king. You just need to have more confidence in your own decisions.’ She assured him, her voice held a great depth of love and trust in it and Jon wanted to believe her, to wrap himself up in her words and use them to hide the chinks in his own bastard armour. 

‘My decisions have been shit of late.’ It wasn’t so easy to believe her assurances after a lifetime of being told otherwise. 

Daenerys frowned; her lilac eyes suddenly hard. ‘You must never repeat such things to anyone other than me. Do you understand? You cannot allow anyone to see you doubt yourself. It’s why Sansa is so willing to undermine you. We are Targaryen’s.’ She breathed the word, giving life to something he wasn’t yet ready to face. He drew back.

‘Dany – ‘

She ran her hand to the back of his neck, holding him there, surprisingly forceful given her current state and her small stature. ‘We are Targaryen.’ She insisted. ‘We answer to neither man nor gods’

Her words sent a chill through him, the woman in his dream appearing suddenly before him, Drogon’s wings flaring behind her in a city of destruction wrought by her own hands. ‘I don’t know that I can agree with that.’ He told her. ‘I don’t think anyone should be above the law.’

Daenerys let her hand fall away, she pulled back to regard him, Jon wondered if she was angry with him, if she would argue the righteousness of their blood. Instead she gave him a wan smile. ‘Perhaps not.’ She conceded, surprising him. ‘But it if we are to change things, to break the wheel that crushes those less fortunate than we must retain absolute power. Any weakness at all and the Lords of Westeros will tear us apart. This is a lesson I learned in Slaver’s Bay; I will not repeat my mistakes here.’

Jon let himself examine her words. He knew that she was right, the Lords of Westeros would never accept rulers who sought to lessen their own power, those on the top were too comfortable, their feudal sociality built from the ground up to provide for them. If they were to improve the lives of the smallfolk they were have to make sure the Lords would never rise against them. It was a mistake he too had made before and it had cost him his life. 

The more he thought about it the more he became aware of another truth, one he had skirted for as long as he could remember. For all his assertions to the contrary he wanted power, not for its own sake but because it was the only way to make anything better. As a bastard he held no sway, considered no better than the smallfolk, he was at the mercy of those who considered themselves his betters. As Lord Commander he was able to protect the Free Folk, as King in the North he was able to amass an army to fight the dead. As King of Westeros perhaps he could improve the lives of those less fortunate. 

Dimly he recalled his life from the vision; the dull purposeless existence that had greeted him in exile, all the while the Raven ruled the Kingdom his ancestors had built. He wouldn’t let it happen; Daenerys would reign from the Iron Throne, whole and just, not broken and corrupted by grief and rage, and he would dedicate the rest of his life to improving the lives of those so often abused by the nobility. A life not lived by the sword. 

And perhaps, if Daenerys and her handmaid were right about the little bit of dragon bone and the curse it held, they may one day be blessed with a family to carry on their legacy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional notes: Dragon bone IUD? Weird I know, the idea just wouldn’t leave me. A lot of magic revolves around talismans and charms and I thought what if she'd used the death of Rhaego to create one. Obviously this is magic and not science, we're not talking a stone baby here nor any risk of infection. 
> 
> So I don’t think the Raven is omnipresent, at least not well he’s trapped in a human body, so he isn’t privy to the conversations Jon is having about him, though if he had cause to he could look back and see it. He knows what’s going on with Dany because the other old gods had a part in it. Jon’s return was shielded from him by the shear amount of magic released when the night king fell but this time there was no way to hide it. 


End file.
